Issue
#8 

March
2010


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a poem by Rose Aiello Morales

A Penny's Worth

Her worth is described as a fallen arc,
a blaze of brilliance on a straight bell curve,
dum dum bullets and blank stares,
shot mouth death march of clattering teeth
and Botox lips, slip in silently and leave a deposit.

They'll shoot their wads if given half a chance
when the curtains rise and the show begins.
The barest skin flick of a slimy wrist,
genuflection, Saint Virginia of the Open Legs
is bowing to you, on her knees, with her tongue hung low.

All special effects with no substance,
things that bang in the night, a light pulsing
becomes just a shorted bulb, dim bulb,
nearly incognizant of the daily double between the thighs,
blinking when the wet spent is felt.

The needle rotting on the floorboards,
dollars rolled in tight little straws.
Which one will break her back?
In Dreamland, what you don't know WILL hurt you.

Innocence does not live inside those eyes,
but would have you cry for what she's lost.
They would have you think she's been devalued,
but there were no blinders on those open orbs.
She knew what she came for and paid her price,
pound for pound as the price of meat plunged.

And they asked for a bounty to speak with her,
though I said I no longer had change for pennies.

© by Rose Aiello Morales

Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #8 ~ March 2010