Now my would be lover,
You think that it’s over
And that you must return
To that which you had spurned
Find work where you can strip,
Dodging hands that would grip,
Letting yourself be used,
Pawed over and abused...
Inhaling drunkards’ breath
Is its’ own little death...
It eats you up inside,
A little more has died
As you swallow your pride,
For when you strip, you can’t hide...
Karl Stuart Kline
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/3-31-the-stripper-4-18-99/
