Recycled People

She was winking and twinkling

And dancing on diamonds,

Sweeping through the room,

Like she still had a hymen.

 

Greater than thirty,

The years she’s been alive.

She’s eight fingers in the wine

In a back street dive.

 

Reality don’t exist here.

The smiles are just for show.

She’s performing before jackals

Whose drinks are getting low.

 

She rolls into their arms,

Purring like a cat,

Teasing them with whispers,

While giving their cheeks a pat.

 

Men know it’s just the wine,

Because there’s no joy in her eyes.

She’s played the game too long

And all that’s left are sighs.

 

She might say yes if asked

And slip away with one.

Though she dreams that it’s romance,

She knows he’ll pay her when they’re done.