Poetry by Jeff Green



by cricketjeff on June 16, 2009.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

She smelt of money, privilege and crime
Her clothes would feed most people for a year
No dame like her gives men like me the time
Unless she’s followed home by mortal fear

It’s forty bucks a day, half in advance
Expenses too, you pay me win or lose
No dame like her would give me half a chance
If she had any other man to choose

It’s three a.m. the cops have walked away
Not worried if a hooker pays the price
But I’m around for forty bucks a day
A victim shouldn’t have to ask them twice

Her sister smelt of drugs and misery
I’ve killed the man who wouldn’t set her free