she wears this black bandana
tied around her head,
which she rests
like a backpack in her folded arms,
on the desk.
Last night was a longer night
she smoked a half pack of Newports,
two hits from a pipe that went around all night,
just one beer got her right, as she was waiting for a fight.
Sitting tight on the stoop, feeling cooped in the city,
feeling heavy from first baby, feeling crazy from the heat,
feeling beat from this life, stifled and convinced, that
her sentence is to use everything she can to lose.
© 2007 henry toromoreno