When I was young and had no sense
In far-off Mandalay
I lost my heart to a Burmese girl
As lovely as the day.Her skin was gold, her hair was jet,
She looked at me, so pure, so sad,
Her teeth were ivory;
I said, "for twenty silver pieces,
Maiden, sleep with me".
The loveliest thing alive,
And in her lisping, virgin voice,
Stood out for twenty-five.
06 June 2009
Ironic Poem About Prostitution
Thank you, George Orwell.
tags:
Art
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1 comment:
"kitty". sixteen,5'1",white,prostitute.
ducking always the touch of must and shall,
whose slippery body is Death's littlest pal,
skilled in quick softness. Unspontaneous. cute.
the signal perfume of whose unrepute
focusses in the sweet slow animal
bottomless eyes importantly banal,
Kitty. a whore. Sixteen
you corking brute
amused from time to time by clever drolls
fearsomely who do keep their sunday flower.
The babybreasted broad "kitty" twice eight
—beer nothing,the lady'll have a whiskey-sour—
whose least amazing smile is the most great
common divisor of unequal souls.
some of the spacing is incorrect due to formatting. One of my fave cummings poems discussing prostitution
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