All these girls are waiting
in this city and every city
for something to begin,

holding their thin bodies in their arms,
hissed at by cars that pass
in the rain. They are contained

behind the barricade that draws
a metal line between them
and the freezing vans.

At the meat market across the road,
busy men in white coats are dancing
their daily load of carcasses

into patient rows.
Later in the night their coats
will be smeared with blood.

Later in the night
when Sailing By is done
and the shipping forecast has begun

thinking of all those souls
out in the dark and cold, thinking
of the ones alone, the others

lying side by side, holding hands,
I remember the young girls
who are younger every day

the ragged line they make,
how their legs are blue
and their faces

lit up before they reach
the light inside,
in anticipation of the dance.