Whores

June 1, 2002

When I raise my rates he folds his fifty dollar co-pay and slides it up my desk like an enlisted man on leave easing a big bill in a stripper's G-string. He tells me I'm like his war-time whore who loved him on payday and left when his money ran dry. Each week I lead him in our dance, excite him with my offer to listen to his dreams. And I tell myself I do it to ease his suffering, because I get paid, because I took an oath. But every month, when we devour another round of sessions, I fill out forms for insurance pimps who won't pay unless I reveal the private parts.

When I raise my rates
he folds his fifty
dollar co-pay
and slides it up
my desk
like an enlisted man
on leave
easing a big
bill in a stripper's G-string.
He tells me
I'm like his war-
time whore
who loved him
on payday
and left
when his money
ran dry.
Each week
I lead him
in our dance,
excite him
with my offer
to listen to his dreams.
And I tell myself I do it
to ease his suffering,
because I get paid,
because I took an oath.
But every month,
when we devour
another round
of sessions,
I fill out forms
for insurance pimps
who won't pay
unless I reveal
the private parts.