The
telephone didn’t ring. She stood by the window of the
hotel room, looking out onto the street where night had
begun to turn her tricks.
Hers was a world without heart, with shame and
something she faked into passion.
The stale air in the room hung with the love making
of many nights. When,
she wondered, was the last time she had made love.
Water no longer washed away the sex, the sadness,
didn’t penetrate her heart to flood away the ache, the
longing. Down
below on the street there was no tomorrow, only guns, the
night, the clubs and men who came wanting. Lonely men,
unaware of their shame, desperate to hide it away in her
for a brief moment, allowing her touch to take them
somewhere where they were at the top.
The phone rang. She didn’t answer it….there
would be no tomorrow tonight.