Prostitute in Egypt

Sand stuck underneath my fingernails,
leftovers from the tanned Arab man
smirking tobacco stained teeth and
sporting that black Armani suit,
as he undressed me with desert hands.

Fingers, festered with yesterday’s lunch,
fumble at the buttonholes that
barricade brown and freckled flesh.
The flower pattern of my dress
a mirage against grit-stricken dunes.

Grains scalding calluses,
scarred into the small of my back,
reminders of the mattresses I’ve grazed.
Sweating pig rind stench, dripping beads
treacherously between my breasts like

Toxin release in a coal mine.
Fatally, he shook and razed me—
Ripping clean the clinging shreds
that once connected me,
what was strong, weighted under

that Eastern body, wronged.
For what had towered, now cowers
eating a saleman’s cigaretted saliva,
fifty pounds richer and a soul
the color of Godiva.

 


 

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