Cigarette burns scar the bar top
Her cheap
Lee-Press-On nails
Tap out of tune
To the sagging jukebox
Old sad slow songs
Of bad booze
Worse men
And good dope
Fill her mind
As she looks
Around the tavern
Looking for someone
Or
Something new
To do
She don’t really care
Either way these days
As long as the distraction
Will chase
The truth away
One more time
Just long enough
To find the next score
In her pocket
She carries
Her last piece
Of humanity
The only thing left she hasn’t sold
Is a broken
Charm bracelet
That says
MOM
©workingclassproduction.com, 2016
