Springs Sing

**This poem is at least three years old…I wrote it after doing a study of blues poems and poems about prostitutes by my two favorite poets Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. The content is heavy. I’m not sure how I feel about it now but here it is for my blogging pleasure**

She sings herself to sleep

Every night

And she’s quite good

But no one knows

No one has heard

 

She’s afraid of rejection

So she welcomes paying customers

Between her legs

No refund

No checks

The creak of the bed springs

Her forced moans

All part of the atmospherics

You get what you pay for

She feels nothing

Empty and Hollow

Like that space between her legs

Cramped compartment

Cramped apartment

Cramped life

 

And She’s claustrophobic

Suffers from panic attacks

Lonely

Trips to the clinic

On the clock

Back to work

On her back

She watches the fan

Traces the cracks in the ceiling

To their place of origin

Nameless faces

Pass in front of her

Pass by her

Pass through her

 

She doesn’t cry anymore

Life has turned the water in her eyes

To dust

She desires love

But she’s content with lust

 

She sings herself to sleep

Every night

and she’s quite good at it

It’s almost to be expected

Because customer after customer

Her bed springs sing the blues

 

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