Red lollipop between her pale blue cheeks,
She’s not taking any prisoners today.
Second-hand bag and third rate heels.
Her mother’s hips and dad’s ashtray.
She stands tall by the neon but feels so small.
Parents never lifted her up very high.
Never her father’s princess of the ball,
Always the first to get a black eye.
With so much fake light, it’s hard to see stars
But she squints each night to catch one.
When the scenery turns into cold iron bars,
She’s off in another car,
Pretending to chase a mock sun.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 