I see them as they are; sad little girls

In old ladies bodies, in hand me down shoes

On their hand me down street corner stations

That the last painted lady left them

Their only precious inheritance.

A generation deluded by movies

Closing their eyes, putting on the uniform

Shutting out horrors, dreaming of retirement

Knowing their street sense is better than the last’s.

She was found behind the bar cold and dead.

While yet another sad little girl

In her very own way wronged; betrayed

Steps on the sidewalk excited; in control.

And watching for Edward Lewis’s Lotus,

She is quickly consumed by the streets.


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