Red glitters on her parched limp lips,
ready for another night she leaves
via the door stained by years.
Hair tied up - unwashed today;
It doesn’t matter; almost dusk,
dark soon, lit by light beams.
They won’t notice,
won’t feel the grease -
their hands are slimy.
An object for a moment,
they’re gone again.
Car rides, car parks, another night -
she’s home with the fix that makes it worthwhile.
Her baby cries; unconsciously ignored -
Red still glitters on her parched limp lips.