The prostitute on Phillips Highway: a poem

Sigarettenauto

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Every car that passes
She blows her, the car, a kiss
Stop
Just stop now
She insists
A kiss
Equals a meal
Some cigarettes
She can almost taste the salt of him
A white pickup passes
She blows her, the car, a kiss
I’ll do whatever you want
As long as you want
All the way is extra
Quick
Stop
Just stop now
Car stop
I need cigarettes

 

The day I wrote this poem I was daydreaming standing at a bus stop in downtown Jacksonville. A pit-bull looking white man with a baldhead jumped out a beat-up pickup truck. He smiled at me. Went to the back of his pickup and yanked out a heavy wood beam. He walked up to me.

“Hello,” he said.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

“Do you know where you’re going when you die he said?”

That’s not the way I thought the conversation was going to go.

Ten minutes later I hopped on a different bus I would normally take to go to work. The bus dropped me off on Phillips Highway at the un-24 hours WalMart (Phillips Highway is notorious for prostitution). Waiting for the next bus to come I saw a woman, who looked like a prostitute, sashaying to the corner store across the street. The words just came to me.

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3 Comments

Filed under poetry

3 responses to “The prostitute on Phillips Highway: a poem

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