8:27 p.m.

She heeded not her own conflict:

instinct leading her to an extended hand’s gift

while shame darted her eyes elsewhere.

“Merry Christmas” our own divisions echoed

as we drove away, staying with her in spirit.

9:05 p.m.

Miss Not-A-Whore

stood with sweatered-only cleavage

cursing cold’s bitterness the only complaint in her evening’s plight.

The pragmatism of her make-money-for-fare-to-mother-or-he’ll-beat-me

nearly sold me

but for her friends whom she later chose.

9:54 p.m.

Looking back with half-opened eyes skimming our vicinity,

dodging our slow-moving car

Mandy recognized Jan.

“Friend!” she yelled and entered.

“Put out your hand” she said

giving us our Christmas present of sweet-smelling sage.

“Back to work, see ya!”

as we stopped to let her out

until we meet again.