No Choice

She stands in the middle of the intersection

with no hint of shade for cover.

Her sweaty brow,

her carbon filled lungs ignored

as she makes cars go to and fro.

No time to whine,

no time to wonder

if all is worth the exhaustion

as she inhales the exhaust of the city,

exhales the unheard sighs,

even manages to smile.

He wades in morass

in a little cube of stench.

To worry about bacteria

that an ocean of hand gel cannot squelch

is a rich man’s concern.

To be alive to smell the shit is bliss.

He thinks he’s lucky

for to be working today,

to be called to swim in other people’s crap

is a blessing, an assurance

that today there’ll be food on the table

there’ll be a scrap of cash.

Her father says she’s doing it for the family.

Her mother says she’ll do it anyway for free.

Might as well be paid to open her legs

to men too ugly inside

that they have to pay for it.

Her innocence is worth nothing.

Her honor cannot be eaten.

What use is worrying about a lost childhood?

What point is there in saving her purity

when staying alive is not a guaranteed option?

She just closes her eyes and takes it

as she tells her soul to die silently.