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by James C. Morehead
Driving south along Jarvis,
I pass five girls.
They catch my eye
with high-cut leather skirts
and jackets open to the street.
One stands close to the curb -- flashing her thigh
to attract another customer.
In that moment,
as my car rushes by,
I see one face:
a mask of make-up.
Her sad eyes
liven and wink as they catch mine.
I don't slow down -- she looks away,
disappointed.
A black Seville, shrouded in tinted glass,
glides along the curb.
Two girls hop in the open doors.
I try to watch in my mirror,
but they blind me with a high-beam glare.
The street is silent when I return,
it seems that everyone sleeps but me
and that girl with the sad eyes.
She begins to run, then stops,
as I slow for a red light.
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Copyright 1980-2009 |
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