14 Oct 2015 – City

Flat-chested city.
Risen nipples painted red
like fire hydrants.

Your money makers:
implants poured of glass and steel,
thrust upward – proudly!

Your signs keep calling.
Red lights hang on every street.
You’re always open.

A g-string showing
aught else but a roll of cash –
no heat, no passion.

Where do you hide ’em –
all those many hopes and dreams
you take at gun point?