Fresh Poetry

Entering Fort Lauderdale

The back of my 32 year-old thighs
no longer command
top dollar
from the gentlemenly class.

Now I work
behind a bar
in a Bam Bam outfit
and men still look.

I let them eye my dance
with cash and whiskey.
Some still offer me money
to go home with them.

I say, “I’m not a whore, asshole.”
But I go home with them sometimes.
I take their money too.
It’s a free country.