There is something about the legs of hungry girls
They are firm, sturdy like the iroko
They stand the test of time
The harshness of the streets
The race to get their food
The sweetness of words and promises
Like brooms to sweep them off their feet

There is something about the legs of hungry girls
They are soft like butter
Spread by the heat of a marathon of temptations

Their legs bleed habitually
In every direction
They are scarred
Different

Winniefred F. Gbemuotor