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.