The Motherfucker

Dark Sunday mornings
at the deserted  subway station,
she waits far from the man smelling like piss
 for the train back uptown.

           She comes
from a place where her name
is neither asked nor given,

From a place where perfume
is used to cover up the smell
of her own cheap perfume,

From a place where she loses: Loses
her pride, her mind, any hope for change.

But she's learned to lose
less tears than she lost last year.

           She gains very little from such losses:
Just enough for food to feed two mouths,
Just enough for the train ride home

To a place decorated with artwork
crafted by the hands
of a hungry three-year-old boy,

 To a place where her own cheap perfume
is used to cover up the smell
of a fourteen year old girl's
marijuana addiction.

             And he always makes sure:
she's gained just enough for her
subway ride back next Saturday night.