Gone were the days
When men swarmed her hut,
And passed metamorphic nights.
She was a peerless beauty,
Tall and stout, and an elusive broad smile
Always stuck her.
Body shapely and muscular, eyes, large
And liquid, Hair long, thick and black, and
Men bought gifts night and day.
Traces of beauty still she holds,
But her old suitors tread her yard no more.
At times a few drunken strangers visit her.
She then shriek, ‘I sell flesh no more,’
And drive the strangers out,
But clients she can’t dissuade thus.
So she hung a poster
At her bamboo fence, and in red ink
She wrote, ‘I sell flesh no more.’