A whore was a whore,
But Asher was a genius as madame of a house.
Even Radica, who often thought him a spineless louse,
Rose loyally to his defense when one client accused
Our Boy (not in Court, thank God, at least not yet) of ‘confused
Agendas’ – a phrase from the client’s letter of complaint
To APT’s Big Wheel, Arne.
~
Arne well knew his boy Ben was no saint,
As far as laydies were concerned, but ladies of the day
Were a different business: you didn’t fuck (with) them, for they
Were paying to fuck with you or, rather, for you to come
Up with some cream to swallow, so you couldn’t be dumb
*
That was all the gist of Big Daddy Arne’s slap on the wrist
To his favourite boy Benny – who never clenched his fist
Or otherwise displayed any emotion while his boss
And fellow whoremonger fucked him over for his fuck-up
Asher couldn’t see what the fuss was about, with no loss
Of finance, good faith or face incurred (yet): APT would buck up
And get on with giving the bitch what she wanted really:
The goods to make her goods look good.
~
Amused by Asher’s bluffing, Arne cracked up into a laugh-
ing cough (he was a hard smoker) and told Ben to fuck off,
How about Wednesday night? and Benny shrugged and sighed Why not?
But right then the thought of sex with another stranger hot
For his money rather than his honey (he couldn’t take
The jingle out of the jungle of his thoughts) seemed too fake
To get excited about
(*fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 