Sitting on the curb of a busy road along the railroad track.
Wearing a mini skirt with your legs spread, bent over
Scratching your wig with one of your long fire-engine red fingernails, while
Reaching in your purse for the matching lipstick.
It’s half past midnight, the night is young.
4 women on the Ho Stro’ between the railroad track, a busy road, and a giant city park.
Hoes stroll day and night.
I’ve been on my way to work, or
Watching the sunrise on my way home from clubbing,
Rain or shine,
These hoes are inline
Scattered along the railroad track facing the park,
Sometimes 1 by 1, sometimes in twos;
And an elderly woman within eyeshot.
I’ve seen a crack head or two, too,
Trying to push herself up to any mens passing by.
Crack or smack,
I’m not sure what these hoes do,
But I know it’s whack.
Frail, emaciated, veins popping and tattered.
They rarely cross the road and venture along the train track.
Over here it’s wide open,
The hoes along the track roam in packs…
Whereas the park side of the stroll provides the crack heads some cover.
For a while, I resisted knowing that these women were hoes.
But one evening,
A couple of hoes showed up at my favorite Beef Noodle joint as I sat for dinner.
All cheery and bubbly,
Dressed for a night out.
Greeting everyone that comes in as you do in your neighborhood joint*
One of the ladies came over towards me, all bubbly and cheery,
Stretched out and unfolded her hands as if she were about to offer me something,
Then jabbed her index finger in-and-out of… you get it.
Yes, THAT universal gesture,
Though it didn’t seem lude coming from her, over a bowl of Pho.
I politely declined, they placed their orders and sat down.
Hoes gotta eat, too.
In my after-dinner walks around the lake,
I have to watch out when I reach the long, straight, tree-lined stretch along the track.
There, there’s nothing but cars parked,
And tea stalls at both ends.
Hoes tend to congregate right in the middle.
No man gets by unsolicited.
It’s as if the bright fire-red were their signal.
Fire-engine red lipstick and false nails to match.
Sometimes a matching skirt, purse and shoes, too.
It’s loitering, but
Soliciting men, too.
The men know where to find them, these hoes are always there.
Street crawlers know where to find them.
Rush hour or late-night,
Early morning, and absolutely at high noon…
Women can’t loiter.
Just look at how we treat women who are not even in the trade.
Meanwhile, men and boys in most parts of the world can hang out anywhere, anytime.
Men are much freer at this level of corporeal control and bodily integrity –
In public and private space.
Although I’d argue that we teach boys to disintegrate into the night.
This is exactly the breach that’s reached here.
These hoes stroll.
There is a Ho Stro’ in every city I know!
Pimps, hookers, hoes, tricks, johns and everybody in between can see.
Hey mister, have you got a dime?
Mister: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
*I’ve only lived here a half a year, so I’m sure this is their hood; I’m new to the party.
NB: Ho Stro’ or whore stroll is an American southern vernacular term – the first term I learned as a kid – for a red-light district. PLEASE, do not look up Ho Stroll on YouTube but if you must this one from LA is HILARIOUS And please, seriously, don’t bother looking up words for the clients of female sex workers.