Remember Tasha?
She met a boy who thought he was a man
whose macho games led her (in no small part)
to form a plan: if she would open up her legs
then he would open up his heart,
but boys who think they’re men don’t often stay
around when mouths to feed are on the way.

I remember Tasha,
one child who brought another in the world –
a son with both his mama’s sad brown eyes –
and then was forced to open up her legs
to feed his hungry mouth and hush his cries,
for mothers young and single with no degree
sometimes must sell their souls for a small fee.

Poor Tasha,
a youth coerced into a grown-up’s life
who found no mate in whose warm arms to live,
and so she opened up her legs to buy
the love that only pipes and bags can give.
I guess we’re only human when we try
to fill the voids love’s absence leaves behind.

I’ll miss Tasha.
I still can see the hope fade in her sad
brown eyes as she labored from bed to bed,
but when she finally passed I grieved much less
than when I saw the light in her eyes dead.
To me, the loss of life seems less intense
than when youth live through loss of innocence.