Poems

12th St. & Third

“I thought I had more money!” She said,
I didn’t know it would be so much!
It didn’t used to be so much!”
She was a young woman, a prostitute-
We were in an area full of streetwalkers-
And she was arguing with a cab driver,
Over the price of a ride, as I was walking by.
She didn’t have enough money to pay him.

Her face, her eyes, were unfocused,
She was probably drunk or high,
And she looked vulnerable and weak,
Absolutely alone in her life,
Soft and in disarray, 
Like someone who did not have long to live.
It was a bitterly cold night,
Maybe she was just in the cab to escape the cold,
But the cab driver was angry, in her face,
Looking as wasted and despairing as she was.
And I stepped in and gave him the money,
The remainder of what she owed him.

As he left, she looked at me and said,
“Why are you being so nice?”
I was silent, and she asked again,
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
Then again, with a look of desperate anxiety,
“Why are you being so nice! Tell me!?”
And I didn’t know what to say.
The truth was that she looked pathetic,
And would most likely soon be dead.
But she was desperate for a kind answer,
Perhaps something like,
“Because you are a lovely young woman,
And you needed a little hand, I wish you the best…”
Something simple like that, 
Not much, just a bit of a compliment,
Something to sustain her, to lift her spirits,
To make her feel a touch of good about herself.

But I couldn’t think of something like that,
Overwhelmed by the reality of her life.
I could only think of what I saw,
An ill young woman, coughing and pale,
In a sad and awful business, barely getting by,
Plain, desperate, not making much money,
Walking the streets on a terribly cold winter’s night,
Most likely suffering at the hands of pimps…
I was made dumb by her reality,
The life she was leading,
And gave her no words of hope, 
Only a blank silence,
Till finally she walked away, 
Into the coldness of the night.