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.

  ...food...