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The Last Time

She left her home to stand alone
on a warm night in July.
Dressed to arouse in a see through blouse
and a mini-skirt high on her thigh.

She adjusted her bra whilst looking for her car,
then stood hands on hips.
Her pimp and his man arrived in a stretched out van,
a version for perversion and sex.

On the back seat of her ride she sat, legs open wide,
a position of comfort and ease.
With her parts on view and a tease that she knew,
she complained in vain on her knees.

He was making a mistake by giving her so little cake
and deserved a much bigger slice.
But a sad fact of life was the pimp’s use of a knife,
his advice and ways weren’t nice.

With their frustrations satisfied she apologised
and he put his blade away.
She quickly realised that she shouldn’t have tried,
this wasn’t the right day, or way.

With a sigh of regret she lit and puffed on a cigarette,
which soaked up the blood from her lip.
To her patch they pulled in; a long sidewalk of sin,
a performing stage for a wage and a trick.

A new face was taking place befitting her space,
as she was pushed out the door.
She made up her mind that this was to be the last time
she’d work as a whore and seek to score.

So this was the final show of get in and let’s go,
and being twenty-five for too long.
Of twisted, violent men who come time and again
pretending they were intending no wrong.

A well practiced scene for the trucker’s main beam,
or anyone who could pay their way.
Alas, she did her level best, but with no interest,
her last day brought with it no pay.

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