deepundergroundpoetry.com
trail of her tears
lonely hitchhiker (long legs in a short skirt)
sometimes she runs away from the house that humbles her,
waiting along the highway for a roving vehicle to pick her up.
usually it was the black Cadillac of a travelling salesman or
the wide-load rig of a long-distance trucker.
if he asked her name. she’d pick one of her pretty sounds;
sometimes she was Nicole, & sometimes Theresa. there was
seldom a compliment to follow: men are like that.
a thumping air conditioner would welcome them in a motel’s
sexual stopover. she figured he wanted her pretty, so the
bathroom mirror assisted her in applying the lipstick that
would be smeared by his rude mouth.
the frigid electrons of filtered air pierced her skin, but she was
warmed under the hairy beastliness of a stranger as he rode
her, hell bent for thunderfuck. if he called her a good whore,
that was okay; she felt trampish, prostitutional. it was inside
her, this whore who fornicated for humiliation.
when he slept, she reached covertly under his pillow for his
wallet, & rifled it for a portion of his cash. she reckoned she
deserved it, being such a good whore & all.
then she made her way back home, because her stuff was there.
dresses that she wore to no place in particular, & shoes that
longed to be danced in. & a small packet of love letters taped to
the bottom of a drawer, scrawled notes from a quiet soldier who
was killed in the streets of a templed city.
back to the common-law husband who hit her too much when he
was drunk on bootleg whiskey or high on back alley dope. this was
the vicious circle of her life, & she rode it like a decrepit carousel.
until she waited again along the highway, searching for something
she would never have, lonely & unloved & repeating the vow she
made to herself: whores don’t cry…
(Photographe anonyme)
Published 8th Oct 2016
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8th Oct 2016 1:04am
A sad and broken woman following the trail of her own tears,so tragic and beautiful in her vulnerable state.
I know of this woman and have shed a few of my own tears along that trail as well.
Brilliant poetry,John,truly a pleasure to read....
I know of this woman and have shed a few of my own tears along that trail as well.
Brilliant poetry,John,truly a pleasure to read....
Anonymous
8th Oct 2016 11:02am
Tragically you penned the truth.. exceptionally delivered .
✨Always peace Trish
✨Always peace Trish
8th Oct 2016 4:04pm
That verse "then she made her way back...a templed city" is sublime
There are sad whores and happy whores no different from any walk of life but this is the portrait of a woman who is a whore because she's sad for a myriad of reasons and no reason
- and that's the sophistication of this - it's real she exists - its not a poster - great write phenomenal texture
There are sad whores and happy whores no different from any walk of life but this is the portrait of a woman who is a whore because she's sad for a myriad of reasons and no reason
- and that's the sophistication of this - it's real she exists - its not a poster - great write phenomenal texture
8th Oct 2016 5:03pm
8th Oct 2016 8:01pm
This write reeks of settling for less in the throes of a painful loss
to avoid the well of loneliness.
& a small packet of love letters taped to
the bottom of a drawer, scrawled notes from a quiet soldier who
was killed in the streets of a templed city.
Ah damn. Just damn. Not everyone is a rock, are they, John?
to avoid the well of loneliness.
& a small packet of love letters taped to
the bottom of a drawer, scrawled notes from a quiet soldier who
was killed in the streets of a templed city.
Ah damn. Just damn. Not everyone is a rock, are they, John?
Anonymous
11th Oct 2016 2:37am
Sir John, many of us live in a vicious circle, some including each behavior you chose to point out without getting paid for it or enduring the physical abuse...still an emotional wreck and so lonely, holding on to special secrets and desperately trying their best to hold back salt...artistry as always...With love - Taryn xoxo
