Harlot – Poem by Anita McQueen

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Anita McQueen – Harlot

She plods pickles
until they lay straight

they can’t help themselves
as she extends them a-
long

tasting a twinge
her future rot

apartment of mirrors
suffocating walls

a sun roof
taped over in black

her clothes
just a fluttering cape

she hoovers over their beds
as they squirt
up with pride

their milk
drying in the morning
scabs over her scars

she told me this
as I walked her home
crying.

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