Beauty Queen

She struts those streets

Like the queen she is.

But in her face is a fear.

Her smile of a mask

Is too big to see the fury.

Her anger.

Of that she knows of.

She struts those streets.

In heels of stiletto.

Their click clack is not enough

Announcement of her Majesty.

Skirt as tight as skin.

Blouse as small as her face

Her thighs are shy,

Never having seen so many faces.

Her breasts are angry

Never having been so cold ever.

She struts those streets

In honey coloured skin.

And she knows that

She is clean.

But their hungry eyes.

Have made her filthy.

She is a queen

In the guise of a slave.

On her knees she must work

On her back she will be rode;

Till the break of dawn-

Must she work

And by noon

Will she sit

In a dusty room

With files older than her.

She struts those street

Hungry for them

Hungry for their needs.
A queen who must don the attire of slaves.  

She struts those street

Like the queen she is.

Beautiful is demeaning

For her.

By her side. Slides a window.

She drops low to meet the face

Of her master for another night.

Nkem Oyaghire