Inside is neon lighting

and the chairs are plastic stools –
her back hurts.
She is a housekeeper by day
and a prostitute by night.

They polish her nails and file them down
build up of flour, garlic and lemon
is steeped into fortified water.
The sediments of scrubbing powder
disappear in an instant.

There’s a sample menu on the wall,
a world of possibilities –
blue and pink background with ivy, diamonds
gems, geometrical,
ethnic or just white.

She picks a turquoise,
like a sea on drugs
and marl like Dover sky,
a bit of white, yellow…
How much can one cram into a nail?
Her palms are only dainty.

She thinks about the man,
his underwear was washed out like hers
but he still raped her…

xxx to be continued

© Irena Revina

Image: Pixabay Vargazs

This poem is from a collection I am preparing dedicated to people and things that shape our world yet are invisible…Images are clear in my head but stories are still evolving…Your suggestions and comments are very welcome. I would like to be able to publish the collection on my next birthday in May. Without your encouragement I would have never gone this far in sharing my writing…so thank you my followers.



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