one more

Something for the Strippers

waiting for the taxi to
take them from the peeling motel
to the club out on 41

we all have these days
people we work with haloed
with stale breath
lipstick stained glasses
with ashes absorbing
the last of the cheap beer
fake teases and feet that
are cramped and sweaty

we all have these days
delusions of sunshine
behind the rain
vacant lots that bloom
with broken glass

we all have these days
life in the old motel
stains on the carpet
the toilet handle loose
the tissue dispenser empty
the grubbing hands of
young men with wives
and kiddies living their
own obscene lives
the empty laps
that rise and fall
the fiver down the g-string

we all have these days
todays, tomorrows,
stale smoke
clean sky
it just goes on