Janet Bernichon
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS,
TWENTY BUCKS FOR A BLOW JOB

"You're the boss," she says
swinging her legs
into your car.
A scorpion tattoo
runs the length of her right thigh
and she sits, legs crossed,
skirt hiked up
to the stinger.
Her leather jacket
with gaps in its fringe
hangs over her hungry frame,
a knife concealed
in its folds.
You think,
she's a smart woman, knows
how to take care of
business—
cash up front, really
likes her work.
Her hand tucked fetchingly
in her pocket
fingers the edge
of the blade.
She thinks,
shit,
time to work
another asshole
out looking for the main
distraction.

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