-pardon me, girl...

Faith Ventura was nine years old,—

a city ragamuffin

with the look of a dusty angel,

her cropped blonde hair stuck to her face.

a smile's a hook to reel them in

working the barrooms, double-timing
in and out of the bus station,

in and out of the train station,

she studied the schedules,

nodding on the platforms,

knocking on the windows

from taxi to taxi,

setting-up outside the theaters,

setting-up outside the public
toilets of Providence

and when the urinals stunk-up the avenue

and the businessmen walked-up
to the streets in their suits

she’d be there to shine the piss from their shoes.

a smile's a hook to reel them in.

                                    for Faith Ventura Humes