before OnlyFans, forced to stare down
at the face of patriarchy -
it doesn't look how you'd think it does.
It's not scary, but pathetic and whimpy,
It's a worm body squirming in a hotel bed
and pull and squeezing with grubby hands
a maggot dick,
squrting white puss like a zit-
towards me.
Outside the door, a girl I only know as Layla,
we both don't know each other's "real" names.
She says she's a gypsy, a word I don't yet know
I shouldn't say.
She comes from generations of grifters, she says,
taught all the ways to con money out of man,
doing nothing, almost nothing,
I believe her, I've seen her,
seduce twenties out of minimum wage wallets.
She says she'll teach me.
I listen and do as told.
Victory is four hundred dollars,
in my hand, I walked in with nothing,
watched the lowly worm tug at himself,
Layla and I leave,
I give her a hundred,
she asks if I was nervous,
I lied and said no.
She pats her purse holding a gun
she shows me, she says "good, I protect you."
Whether face-to-face or video snaps,
lady pimps and buffalo hoes don't change,
we can fool ourselves it's empowering,
when men always wanted pay,
cover their yellowbelly shame with dollars
like a cat covering a turd with sand.
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