Nights chilly now, wool mittens lost,

coatless, an infested blanket around her shoulders,

Baby Doll prowls the sidewalks she knows like a feral cat

leading to the doors of a Salvation Army storefront


Cheerleader she once was,

she needs shampoo, tooth brush, toothpaste,

a bar of soap, a jacket of some kind, galoshes,

a backpack not stinking of stale food


Between hot meals at the soup kitchens,

the cash she earns from an occasional john,

she figures she’s worth this little bit

before the first real snow


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