THE PROSTITUTE (A POEM)

 

They have just one thing on their minds
But I have many on mine
Though the color of their skins are as different as wine
They are all one and the same kind
One after the other, they inflict pain in my inward parts
Tears become my numbing pill
Am home in West Africa. I see my father sitting on a bamboo mat
The pain between my thighs bring me back to Sicily
I want that one,
Another points in my direction.
Oh, the 13 year old, he says with a smile
That will be only 20 Liras…
©2012 Otaigbe Itua Ewoigbokhan
  Itualive!
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