The actions we take compound mistakes
the things we do are are the people we fake
the people we are are the chances we take
Risks' ratio to danger
The victims have theirs
Their exploiters their own
Gloria's back at her usual stand
has morphed in the mirror
transvests in the night
swings purse and hips on pogo sticks
down on the luridly, mean motel strip
her lips are penciled sharp
Eyeliner tight to the lash, mascara too caked
pantyhose wedged in the crack
It's the standard trick for 30 dollars a blow
the look in her eye of man eating tiger
where interstate truckers park overnight,
before resuming their 12 hour hauls
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