Buffeted by a dingy bar and a run-down building,
Hair-dressing salon, in one disused container set,
Not a few gals of appearance conscious, attracts;
Unwise men nearby quaffing beer, object of focus.
Owned by pretty teenager with low-cropped hair,
She, struggling high-school dropout, pulls a crowd;
Without fail, every Friday to the bank goes smiling,
Toward future growth, a small fortune puts aside.
Many among her peers from a sordid past still roam
The streets, flimsy excuses giving for their flirtations
Although, she to one and all job offer letters sends,
None invited with arduous work intends to grapple.
2 comments:
I especially love the air of wistfulness this poem creates.
An air of sadness and thoughtfulness, I couldn't agree more, Joy, this poem seems to throw up; your kind remark I appreciate, thank you.
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