Friday morning, up and down the sidewalk.
Beads, beads, rote prayers, signs.
These are the little waves slapping softly, relentless, against the rocks.
Erode, erode, wear it down.
Sometimes a conversation with a scared girl on the way in,
Pushed by mother or boyfriend towards a decision as final as Judgment Day.
On a blue moon, one changes her mind. The mother cries.
The scale tips. One gets to live.
Most times it’s in and out: two go in, one comes out;
But even the survivor is victim, of the most heartless con
Ever run in this earth.