Dressed in a tight fitted skirt, down the road,
I blended with the night.
Hoping tonight will pay off.
But, what do you do on bad working nights?
On nights when men in black cover the claws of flaws with a rough cost.
On nights when the so-called saviour of the masses savoured my dignity.
On Nights when the organs of my body went on trial by an organ of the government.
On nights when my teeth tethered on the edge of my lips.
On nights when an eruption of loud volcanic noise resulting from hard thrusting became my hearsay.
Nights when my victimization was substituted as damages without going on trial.
How does one prevent work from meeting with pleasure in a country where comeuppance is justified?