Hard Rain

She steps up the glass stairs
leading to centre stage,
so fresh and fragile;
a stainless steel pole is all
she has  
to hold on to;
faded dollar bills
pay for her
one song performance,
barely enough to scrape by.
 
She dances with confusion,
unsure  
her
self,
his eyes fixated
on the diamonds, gold and ink
that cover her skin;
he can tell only her  
tattoos are real.
 
She takes off
what little  
clothes
she has on;
the other men  
whistle and clap,
while he remains
silent,  
fascinated by her
every step.
 
The other girls only dance
for money and power,
some for the kicks and thrills,
she looked foreign to the feeling
of trying to make
a living with her body;
he couldn't help
but notice the facade  
in her smile.
 
Every little beady-eyed stare
gave her goosebumps,
she couldn't wait
to finish her shift  
so she could escape  
back into the alley
where she first knocked  
on the door for a job.
 
The scent of rain
on the hot pavement  
reminds her of her father;
she cried for hours
when he left her
that early summer morning.
 
Since that day
thunder and lightening calm her
when she feels like she's been set on fire.  
 
He can only hope
she makes it home safely
when it rains down this hard.