The Harlot

Mid Uzi shots from vacant lots, which strike and ricochet
a painted girl with flaxen curl (named Wendy)’s on her way
to tantalise with half-clad thighs, to trick again today;
and indiscreet along the street she gives her pride away
to any guy who’s passing by with cash and time to pay.

In concert halls, beyond the sprawls 'round shabby cabarets,
unjaded thoughts of Camelot imbue divine ballets.