Hello there crumpled panties, stripes of sexiness tossed aside. I see you here, discarded from the night before, and I wonder:
How did you find your way to a sidewalk downtown? 17th, just of K Street.
Was the night that good? That fun? That fast? And why are you still here, well past the dawn’s early light?
Are you now unloved, discarded like a Blackberry sled? Or are you just jealous of the love others had, without you?
Might a Hilton, a Simpson, or a Spears be looking for you now? A woman, commando.
Will you stay here long, situational sculpture on concrete? Who will disturb your rest? I sure will not.
A woman’s panties, striped or not, are not in my street scene.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs