Cat Call

Hey…you…pssst…floating
Lightly from high above
The cement masses
Whistles and cat calls
Reminiscent of a 50’s B flick
With blonde bombshells
And well manicured mustaches
That get twisted when the mood shifts
From scene to scene
Little girl with grown up shoes
Struts her stuff
While taking another puff
Long thin 100s imported
Via her new daddy’s
Best stash dipped
In candy coated cocaine
For character reference
And a little push
All for the sake of its own
Gentle manipulative shove
She slips from the right – side of the curve
To the depths of hell in waiting
There is no bounce left in her step
Looking up with a child’s eye
Batting her thick false lashes
Trying to disguise
Her lack of expertise
In matters of lust and passion
What entices the streets
Of a city that never sleeps;
Never protecting its young
and innocent – taking from the weak…?

© 2016 TrilbyYates