The Lady Street Walker

by Irene Fowler, Contributor

From Irene:

I decided to write a poem, hoping to shed some light on the plight of those who through desperation, despair or coercion, are living a life on the edges of society. Not wishing to judge, condemn or defend their motivations; as a humanitarian and advocate of women’s development, I am using my voice and platform to call for more understanding, empathy and action, to help afford these forgotten members of society, a better life.

To read Irene’s poem, please click


The Lady Street Walker

by Irene Fowler

Look not upon me aghast, or with pity-laced scorn
I am like you flesh and blood, of woman born
A cherished daughter, sister, niece, aunt, mother
Living a life of abasement, society’s throw-away; other
Trapped in an ugly, cruel, iron vise; hardly comfy, gentle or kind
Risking life and limb, my life of vice, in an endless bind
Walking the city’s highways, byways and mean streets
Clearly, never mistaken for a no-nonsense, uniformed cop on the beat
Scantily clad, my tired, wracked mind and body, bared
It’s the name of the game; no better way to ply, barter, sell my wares
Like you, I have a best-loved colour – it’s buttercup yellow
Although, it matters not, to paying johns, all strange-bedfellows
Like you, I have a fav, special meal – it’s spicy pot roast
But, I make do a lot; with a coke and canned beans, on mouldy toast
I used to be religious, you could say I still am, giving to charity when I can
Worn around my neck, since childhood catechism – a chain and cross
For comfort and protection; happily, in nowise a horrid albatross
I even pray, every so often, for society to help equip me, for a better day
Looking on me no less fondly, than a cat or dog far from home; gone astray
I am like you; we breathe air from the same abiding, eternal source
I am worthy of regard; albeit, my shadowy ways, and tricky life-course.


© 2022 by Irene Fowler

About wordcloud9

Nona Blyth Cloud has lived and worked in the Los Angeles area for over 50 years, spending much of that time commuting on the 405 Freeway. After Hollywood failed to appreciate her genius for acting and directing, she began a second career managing non-profits, from which she has retired. Nona has now resumed writing whatever comes into her head, instead of reports and pleas for funding. She lives in a small house overrun by books with her wonderful husband.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.