HOOKERS IN MODESTO, A POETIC RESPONSE

I Didn't Know They Sold That at the Farmer's Market
(by Sam Pierstorff, City of Modesto's Poet Assholeaute)

"When asked why they come [to Modesto, CA], prostitutes have told officers that they like the area . . . . It's warm, so it's easy to be outside. And business is good, especially during the harvesting season."
—"Nights on Ninth Street" by Emilie Raguso Modesto Bee, 1/7/08.

When it's time for almonds to be shaken
off their trees, here come the hookers.

Lured by the warmth of Modesto's summer breeze,
they blow into town and shake the nuts from the twigs
and berries of men who stand for such things.

And I thought they came for the Gallo Center for the Arts
or the downtown restaurants, the sweet potato fries
at Harvest Moon, the Azteca Mocha at Queen Bean.

Why don’t they come for art? Where are the garters
and fishnet stockings in the front row of the poetry slam?

If only they knew what poems could do for their body,
they would pay to stand under the hot water of our words,
and we could wash away the stains our neighbors left behind.

We are more than limp dicks in Ford pick up trucks, more than
sleazy motels and meth clouds rising like ghosts from burial ashes.

But if they came to us, would we speak to them at all?
Would you play a song on your guitar or write a haiku:

Lady of the night—
It's dark outside, so come in.
We'll take care of you.

She'll tell you that "It's warm, so it's easy to be outside."
And for a moment, you believe her. But look closer:

Her arms are scarred as dead branches. Her face, bruised
and torn by the shears of fingernails and fists. Her mouth,
a dark well of missing teeth, you wonder if she even eats.

This does not look easy.

It's harvesting season once again in Modesto
when business is especially good.

So before the burning light of a new day dawns,
before you sow another wild oat, before you strip
your field down to its naked red dirt, ask yourself,

which hoe will you use today?