Fresh Scents

it was a hot night
burnt flesh was in the air

she stepped into
a smoke-filled salon
on Columbus Avenue
where a white haired man
waited for a wanton woman

he sat at the bar
drinking gin and tonic
she can still smell
the pork sausage in his pocket
the Old Spice on his skin

he led her to a black cellar
where on cold molded
piss filled sheets
she slid out of the body
he held and raped

what screamed

she heard glass shatter
the scent of flowers
wafted by
she stared at herself
helpless and pained

what lay twitching

a rag doll
she took home
and sprayed
with the smell
of cheap perfume

by Susan King

Other poems of KING (1)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.