|Hookin' Hooker's Hook|
by Gregory Wilde  /  poetry  /  9 May 2008
Once I saw a hooker on speed,
My friends watched her dance,
Traffic stopped and drivers reveled,
She was the queen of the night.
We followed her home then,
She lived in an apartment,
Housed with other hookers,
Drug addicts, pill poppers,
Speed freaks, alcoholics,
Beds were cots lined against the walls,
Neon lights tattooed dried blood on the floor.
The next morning I walked back to her,
Looked into the windows,
She had a customer,
He groaned and came quickly,
She took three bills and kissed him,
I touched my pussy and felt naked.
I walked along the beach,
Sunday morning church was still in fashion.
Life guards were reading comics,
The sands as white as the Cliffs of Dover,
I called my boyfriend on the pay phone.
He drove me along Mulholland Drive,
On the hills I took his hand and,
He pushed his middle finger inside,
I wanted to feel what she knew,
I wanted money and free food,
Jewelry and cars,
I wanted to live like a rock star.
He, quickly scared,
Drove me home to my mom.
Church was still in,
Brothers asleep in bedrooms,
Hungover naked in sunshine,
I felt their sweat on my brow,
Feeling their cocks in my hands,
They came, they came, they came,
Again and again and again.
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