Paying Dues

The modeling world has a sleazy underbelly

only wannabes like me get to see.

Many traps designed to snare

country-mouse-girls

trying to make it in Manhattan.

Alone at a studio,

a photographer explains as if to a child

that if I have sex with him,

we will have better chemistry

when he shoots off

his roll

of film.

Promises he can get me the jobs

and exposure I crave,

moves in close

kisses me as

I stand hugging myself.

He tastes old

my dad’s age

don’t want to even picture his junk

let alone see it

let alone touch it

my daddy issues become sentient

and recoil

pulling me backward.

At last, a limit to my self-loathing

And I’m all out of consolation blow jobs.

I grab

the gullible outfit changes I’ve brought,

shaking with revulsion,

or fear

or perhaps low blood-sugar,

I flee.

I’d hoped this was my

big break.

Not just another snake.