She sits on a box
On a seedy side street
Beneath illegible graffiti.
Same spot every day.
Waiting, waiting
(as if life was for ever)
Like a drugged buddha on a trip to oblivion.
But she needs to be noticed,
Hence the facade
Of fake tan and fake leather
Designed to startle
Designed to stop the needy in their track.
But the mask is thin
The delusion fleeting
This \'she\'
Is just a pronoun to passers- by.
For reasons no one knows
She must sit here.
No one cares.
Her name is nothing.
She\'s just a reflection
Of a world
That can sell life
So cheap.
So very cheap.