Unmentionables

There they lay.
Like some perverted masterful prize.
As if they could be a symbol of her changes.
They no longer fit yet she wears them anyway.
When they are worn they wander beneath her clothes.
Slipping along well-known curves.
Slopes known by any man in this town
Or some few passerbys,
That never seem to just pass her by.
Printed with fruits they mine as well be a symbol of the last year gone by.
She was picked fresh and so now is no longer considered ripe.

The ball of cloth laid out like a story book for all.
The tag had been cut off in the first week.
Then came unexpected rain,
Red stains were cast there too.
Holes speckle the front,
Borne there by inhuman teeth.

She sits staring at them,
Shriveled up on the cold cement
She’s Remembering the faces of all those who have cast them to the ground.
The pleasure and power were never hers to have.
However, money keeps the hungry fed.
So,how does one choose between dignity and fruit?