Centerfold

My dear drunken centerfolds, 

what has been wrought in 

your glossy lifetime?

Where have you gone?

Placed between the

ads for lonely people-

teenage boys' wet dreams.

The sad women you've 

become, plastic skin

painted orange. 

Your souls lost

in the pages.

Covers blacked out

behind the counter

of the Quik Mart.

Next to lottery tickets

and cigarettes.

The ungodly

trinity at its best.

Crumpled dollars

on the formica,

meaty hands.

And your sad eyes

lustful for-

what?

As they peer over the edge

of the plastic black censors

hiding what you choose to 

show.

The racks of you

above the head of

the cashier peer

down and whisper

sweet nothings.