from Turn Left at the Dead Dog:
On the train
A woman prettier than pretty
hair a red not found in nature
black stilettos worn for stature
butt made to serve tea.
She gets out from the same door as I
follow her down the steps
through a steel shamrock.
I am curious how easily she walks
and knows where she’s going.
To the token clerk, a lift of her hot ‘n cold cup.
He in his booth like a banished pup.
She turns around.
Come on, she says,
go with me.
You’re a nice girl.
Nowhere else you could be
but at the Shipyard.
Come on.
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