| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Homer's (the blind man's) poetry as seen by the waiter "Iliad XVII"
a winner ...the one who said "Holla!" Both concrete guy and worker touched her wiggling butt. An average woman's body covered in a light dress with ?sweet stains showing, passing through, trying to get by, wanting to leave town for good, but had to walk work-walk work-walk to work to work. She smelled cheap, just like a woman smells who had not had a bath all day sweet perfume covering up telling about the heat of the day of tastes of passion short livedin the parking lot, standing up in driveways on her knees in the alley behind those appartments over there. Her smile was childlike, she acted or was she lost. "I need money for a hotel, a room, to clean and pretty up!" And she told us about herself. Wanting enough money to buy some clothing at Salvation Army, enough for the next meal too. Tomorrow she would make some more money, maybe enough for the bus a ticket out of here. This town as beautiful as it might have looked to farmers, workers and locals she called appropriately her end of world the butt-hole to hell since released at four this morning from the women's jail walking from Natividad she was and still near broke. The MST driver did not let her on the bus, for she had no shoes on small feet a long walk with a hardened soul. Oh wonder the few lucky bucks sucking off the vacuum cleaner salesman and the ten bucks from the cab driver didn't last, went for essentials lipstick, Trojans and a steak dinner to forget the razor-tipped wire fences, dreaming of a white picket-fence she was too once. No she talked and the guys listened checking their wallets the concrete guy says, "Sweetie? You have a name?" "If you have a room you may call me whatever you want. If you have spare cash you may do me however you want! Deal?" He called her Sexie and off they went his motel room on North Main couldn't wait much longer. Walking out the door there was nothing cheap about her. Proud, happy, small hands gentle held by big hard rough hands. A happy big hard working fellow, a small time crook on his hand, both having found each other, wanting what the other had to offer a fair deal, both able to give no illussions no false promises consenting adults. A pretty woman, a winner he was. A good healthy man, a winner she was. And just like a winner holding a trophy, she was holding his hand.
02/19/07 helmut s author of the Hospitality Skills CD ..and the world's largest restaurant menu site in the making... ...Africa, Americas, Asia, Australia, Europe , Middle East...
|
|
|