South Philadelphia Whore
SOUTH PHILADELPHIA WHORE
You'll breath her essence as her love's implied
upstairs from where she drank her watered wine,
and for an hundred dollars she has cried
to make you feel the man and feel just fine;
her Afro is all curling in your hair
and as the beat goes on it ups the price
to be two hundred and you put it there
on her nightstand so love can come on twice.
Her pith's exagerated twice as much
in hopes you have three hundred more to pay,
and you explode just from her second touch
to show you black is beautiful her way.
And taking break, she calls for more champaigne
while raising heat so you can come again.
South Philly is her home, but whom she lays
comes from the suberbs just the same as you,
the trash that lines the streets is trash that stays
no matter what do-gooders try and do;
all putrid is the smell out on her street
but you've forgotton what's reality
you're only here to let your bodies meet
and number three has not come on for free!
Concerning for your hubcaps is too brief
and though you've heard it, she makes you forget,
for time is getting on, and time's the thief
more than the thieves that daylight's never met;
up on the roof there beats a summer rain
at which you swear then enter her again.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
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