Number 87

a pink light flashes tonight

it's not on top of a tree

it's the number on a street

where the lonely men will go

men so deeply full of rejection

needing to be affirmed through their erection

men who feel inadequate in relationship

the ones who know no other way to relate

men who feel like pure meat

meet with other meat to eat

to release the tension of empty personality

to for a fee feel free temporarily

i sigh for the women and their clients

who live on the margins in silence

surely the barrier of rubber reenforces

the coldness of a plastic world

there's more intimacy from a poker machine

it's not my call but their choices

still i hope they have a blessed christmas