Thrift Store Girl Poem by r james sterzinger

at the entrance of the thrift store
stood the girl, sixteen, maybe
if I had to bet a dime, closer
to twelve or fourteen I'd
surmise.her blue eyes barely
peeping out beneath her
baseball cap, hair pulled
back in a blonde bun
all told about eighty pounds
soaking wet, as they say.

on this girl's neck a love
bite, yellow blue
and green like a large butterfly
as if someone had tried to
suck her brains out.

her fresh beauty
damaged, degraded like someone
pounding spikes into The Mona Lisa

the devil's that haunt us
in the excesses of sex
and love cheapen us all
who cannot help to still
to believe in it.