The Nicest Whore I Ever Met [poem by Brenton Booth]

Wait! she said. just let
look at you for a
you don’t see
guys built like you
very often. do you
work out?
no.
aren’t you lucky. how
old are you?
guess.
I’d say 23.
no 27.
really?
yea its my hair. when
I comb it this way I
look younger. you’re
23.
that’s right.
we moved to the bed.
I gave it to her.
it only lasted a few minutes.
I never go any longer when
I’m paying. I apologised.
it’s OK , she said. I told
her I lived in Sydney and
I was just passing through
here on the way home. I
had a job in Sydney. not a
great job. but enough for
the time being. I had plans.
and one day they’d get me
out of my job that I hated
so much.
I’m just passing through as
well, she said. I’ve been here
6 months now. and been
doing this about 5 months.
it pays better than waiting
or being a secretary. I just
save everything I make. I’m
going to travel. in 9 months
I’ll be out of Australia. I hate
this country. in 9 months I’ll
be in New York celebrating
new years. it will be so great!
what about your family, I said.
my father died 2 years ago, and
my mother and sister are insane.
they blamed me for his death—
ridiculous people! I haven’t had
any contact with them for a year.
I’ve got nothing in this country
anymore. that’s’ why I’m traveling.
I’ll start in America, then France,
Germany; I’m going everywhere.
I’m going to get away. I’m going
to get away, she said. it went
silent after that. we both just
laid on that bed next to each
other. looking at the ceiling
and the walls.

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