Wages

Tall, too thin, hair like smoke and string, he's dressed not
odd enough to turn folks off. She waits, Penn Station,
friends will bring their car, now stuck in traffic. When a cop

strolls past, the con man freezes, doesn't talk
to women, only businessmen. She sees
him ask, wallets open, coins, often
bills change hands. He might have AIDS? - seems

polite - perhaps his mother taught him "please" and
"thanks." She estimates his daily take -a buck per hit, 15 per
 hour, no tax. Jeez. For years she got up, dressed, commuted,
 hated

work. She hands him five - "Been watching you." "Naughty
girl - to spy on what I do."

About The Author

Margaret A. Robinson began writing poems in June 2001 and has had over one hundred accepted in publications like California Quarterly, Fiddlehead, and Bathtub Gin. A print chapbook of thirty of her cheekiest poems, "Sparks," is hot off the press at Pudding House Publications (puddinghouse.com).