At the age of twelve, preacher eyes open wide at the sight of you. Sometimes ten. Fifty-cent pieces are pressed into palms as a tithe. The gum is wrapped in paper sunshine!
They never say "Don't tell" because the preacher men choose the pretty girls belonging to tired mothers: "Lawd, I'm so tired. Girl go outside and play."
Memorial Drive, MLK and Metropolitan are terrible roads to cross. No place for a girl child to play. Send them to Sunday school where they will be safe. Let the preachers lay hands on them. Turn them into little whores.
There a many whores.
There are whore wives, women who give it up for a last name. Then whore wife opens her legs, cooks meals, and cleanses briefs of skid marks, among other whore wife duties. Wives get the trouble. the worry. The soiled underwear. The last name legitimizes her existence otherwise, she still gets fucked. ...
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