ode to a ho
saw you from the back seat
driving down by the wharfs
in Hamburg
around nine-thirty at night,
not knowing whom you waited for
sailors and fisherman being gone
but you waiting anyways
a certain envy to you
in your leopardskin leather
(how Debbie would be jealous!)
and chest thrust skyward
in a strange defiance of
what?
I don not know
but it is pondered secretly
as the car moves passed and on
winds its way downtown
stops at the light
next to the carfull of hot German boys
the one in the back seat
(like me)
in white t-shirt and cropped hair
the rugged curbes of his arms
bulging and rolling
like well-sloping hills of delight
and a remembrance of you is stirred
and at that moment
a longing to be you
sashay.