Five Dollars Closer to Freedom

    In Fitzroy Street each evening
    painted girls in skin-tight clothes
    stood waiting in the doorways
    for men to walk by.
         ("Thirty bucks a quickie and no full strip")

    In Lupton Street, day in, day out,
    a half-grown child with ancient eyes
    looked hopefully for chances
    to sell all she had.
         (Five dollars bought whatever was wanted.)

    They climbed into the battered Ford
    their silent subtexts understood,
    transaction made and sealed
    with eight years of blood.
         (A round of golf, then back to business.)

    Her practiced hands moved robot-like
    while doing what he asked her to,
    then as he came between her legs
    she lay there numbly.
         (The fear never left her; she just stuffed it down.)

    In the wardrobe, huddled tight,
    pink rabbit clutched within her arms,
    the girl hid from the raging,
    crumpled notes in hand.

     
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    Ria Strong