Let the walls say she is unclean, for the lobby she waits in isn’t fair; it is impartial. But let the pillars take exception to her stillness. If she couldn’t gain wanted attention, desire in whose eyes that plead for money couldn’t move at all the men whose token she receives at best. Let pity resolve her vigil into cash received, whole dollar amounts, the wanton reward of humility. Let supply replace demand. Let this be the gift of affluence, how cheap the price of pleasure where honor must succumb to need that causes her to stand before the customers of disease. Let the clock claim she is crippled as it ticks undismayed by her lame assuagements and unconvinced by her address.
5 July 1973