“TEN CENTS”

Men she falls for
make FEAR from her.
They squeeze it out,
like lemonade
from a filthy rag.
Rub it off on her face,
and tell her how to make it.
“2 pinches of sweetness, baby.
Pulp it ‘till there ARE no seeds. ”
She DOES,
but she serves it to them
with so much more sour.
They shove it.
She loves it.
They taste it.
She takes it;
The FEAR on her knees,
scrubbing sticky floors
after they GET what they NEED.
HER FEAR,
swallowing them—
mopping them up
like dirty dishwater
run over the rim.
These men she obeys—
not because they are good,
not because they are bad,
but because they tug her hard enough
that she has to look back
to remember who she was
before she started selling juice to strangers.
FEAR is the great motivator, they say—
but so is making a DIME.

narrative poem written on 11-17-2010 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem

SHARE THIS POEM!

- Remove line breaks