Ceilings, My Only Sky


There she is, Ovette, on a street. It’s summer, on “the” step with one or two others, the inhale of cigarettes, a bit of laughter…. Come season’s cold she sits alone holding a cup of soup. After each slurp; a mongrel dog stares up and pants. And through it all, thoughts drift up from her soul as Ovette scratches words on stone with nail file…. Words of her own.

Ceilings, My Only Sky

This spot, hidden from the street light’s “give”,
Back to wall, high heels and all
Comes lust in garment, passion to disrobe,
The price is set, sweat’s living bread
Mere perfumed air, that’s the boulevard here

Pennies for Men
Like a copper coin dropped into sea,
Floating down down never to be found
Short skirt, low-cut top, brings needs’ rest,
The night and I, small talk, hush hush, the quick good bye

Paris where, Harlot, was born
The sidewalk, same beat, flesh,the forgotten repeat
My cross to bare,young, pretty and poor,
Police to pay, old lady to sew,
Winter’s dread, soup, wine and wind, nothing really said,
Of girl-friend so so thin, the very worst end

Pennies for men
A curb in the night, smell of garlic, breath of wine,
The small room to pay, oh, the lay lay lay
But, I do speak to God, church-candles to light,
Saying, “the dream I can not feed anymore, only me”

Just pennies for men
Divorced from day, choose sweet-shadow in the dark,
Always strangers, a smile, a lie or two
My Devil’s Island, Paris is,
Is, each and every Paris night
Pennies for men….Ovette’s sad life

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973
7/3/2015