STREET VENDOR — A POEM

Summary

The web content is a raw, evocative poem titled "STREET VENDOR" that delves into the life and perspective of a sex worker, juxtaposing her existence with societal norms and religion, and includes a personal appeal from the author, Ginger Bangs, for support and readership on Medium.

Abstract

"STREET VENDOR" is a candid and poignant poem that offers a glimpse into the life of a sex worker, portrayed as a woman who navigates life on her own terms, making choices that are both necessary and transient. The poem presents her as a figure of resilience and pragmatism, engaging in transactions that are as much about survival as they are about human connection. Through vivid imagery and powerful metaphors, the poem challenges societal judgments and religious hypocrisy, highlighting the duality of her role as both a commodity and a confidant. The author, Ginger Bangs, interjects with a personal note, inviting readers to engage with her work on Medium, suggesting a metaphorical exchange not unlike the poem's theme, and expressing gratitude through potential membership and support.

Opinions

The poem conveys a strong opinion against the stigmatization of sex work, presenting it as a form of survival and a valid choice.
It criticizes the moral judgment placed on sex workers by equating their services to the "repentant wish" and "fever for prayer" of their clients, implying a critique of religious hypocrisy.
The author emphasizes the humanity of the sex worker, showing her as someone with feelings and agency, not just a transactional figure.
The poem suggests that the sex worker provides an essential service, fulfilling needs that go beyond the physical, including emotional and psychological desires.
Ginger Bangs' direct appeal to the reader for support and engagement on Medium mirrors the theme of transactional relationships, offering content in exchange for readership and financial support.

STREET VENDOR

She eats of life After her own fashion Making and taking Her choices of chance

One-night dances without illusion of romance weaving that belly-to-belly gut/gut loop bluntly put — she fucks for bucks.

Who are you, I wonder beneath that blank check of a face? Who are you, sweating upon my blanket? Who are you calling for, as you try to mold your clay with mine?

While churches sleep her eyes spin into copper offering plates her hide, an altar of sheltering brass commodifying itself to accommodate a fever for prayer.

I am not a priest, I’m a placebo a socially illicit pleasure. Don’t you dare look down upon me. I’m only kneeling because my feet hurt. You are only buying me, using me, masturbating inside of me.

She offers herself only the bright spangled moons of survival that strangers press into her palms and pockets as she feeds upon their repentant wish their greed for uncertain flesh, she serves them in ways their mothers would not.

We all sleep with strangers. I’m just being practical.

Hi! My name’s Ginger Bangs. I’m new here in Medium. Please follow me. I promise you I will not bite. At least not unless you want me to.

And — if you enjoy what I’ve been writing how about buying me a cup of coffee? I like mine tall, dark and strong!

AND — CLICK THIS LINK if you’d like to become a full member of Medium and read everything on the platform for $5 a month. The membership fee directly supports me and the other writers you read.

You better go and read another story of mine before I start passing out the collection plate.