At midnight under the watching moon
When graveyard voices begin to croon
And all the honest worlds asleep
And only whispering shadows creep
With every furtive wind that blows
And where they travel no one knows
They move with such a practiced stealth
As can't be lucky for the health -
A figure standing on the curb
For a moment does not disturb
The sense that everythings alright,
Its just another sight at night
A hookers plying of her trade,
She's pretty, small and nicely made,
At the corner outside a bar;
Before long another joins her
Who does not hesitate or balk
But settles in at once to talk.
Meanwhile coming along the street
With hardly a sound, silent, fleet,
A car, smooth as a purring cat
Decides that this is where its at
Pulls quickly in a parking space,
Nothing suspicious, out of place
Except a sign thats stating clear
"SEXY SENIOR" is in the rear
A matter thats of little note
Until two thin young men get out,
Mustached latinos, slickly suave
Not much older than twenty five:
After they've locked and parked the car
They disappear inside the bar.
Back to the ladies on the curb,
Their interchange has grown acerb;
They speak now with voices raised
Dramatic words, acutely phrased
Lightly bickering back and forth
One leaves and cuts the matter short.
The other woman now alone
Seeing how late the night has grown
Starts to grow restive in one place
She turns and twists around her face
Then crosses to the other side
Opens a door and goes inside
While from a window up above
Someone watching as if in love
Retires and pulls the curtains close
Then all is quiet in that house.