They stood in doorways
picturesque postures
symmetrical eye makeup
objects for your gawking.
I was fifteen
surrounded by drunkards
and out-of-towners
pockets dripping euros.
They call it the red light district
‘cause you can’t help stopping,
eyes strive to capture
these pleasure domes,
scenes set to singe innocence.
The neighbor raps on the door
for a cup full of condoms
and the stairs spiral upwards
uncomfortably narrow.
I was fifteen
and it didn’t bother me,
picturesque postures
symmetrical eye makeup
objects for your gawking.
I was fifteen
surrounded by drunkards
and out-of-towners
pockets dripping euros.
They call it the red light district
‘cause you can’t help stopping,
eyes strive to capture
these pleasure domes,
scenes set to singe innocence.
The neighbor raps on the door
for a cup full of condoms
and the stairs spiral upwards
uncomfortably narrow.
I was fifteen
and it didn’t bother me,
at first. Next stop, Iran;
where even doorways
tuck away, in shame.
Nice! Great imagery and feeling. I liked it.
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