" She's selling CDs on the corner,
fifty cents to any stoner,
any homeboy with a boner.

Sleet and worse - the weather's awful.
Will she live? It's very doubtful.
Life out here is never healthful.

She puts a CD in her Sony.
It's the about the pony
and a pie with pepperoni

and a mom with warm, clean hands
who doesn't bring home guys from bands
or make some sickening demands.

The cold wind bites like icy snakes.
She tries to move but merely shakes.
Some thief leans down and simply takes.

Her next CD's called Land Of Food.
No one there can be tattooed
or mumble things that might be crude

and everything to eat is free,
there's always a big Christmas tree
and crystal bowls of potpourri.

She's weak but still she play one more:
She's on a beach with friends galore.
They scamper down the sandy shore

to watch the towering waves cascade
and marvel at the cute mermaids
who call to her and serenade.

She can't resist. the water's fine.
The rocks are like a kind of shrine.
The foam goes down like scarlet wine.

One cop stands up and says, "She's gone."
The other shakes his head and yawns.
It's barely 10:00, and life goes on. "

― Ron Koertge , Lies, Knives, and Girls in Red Dresses