On Market Day

Some dream of local markets - fruits and veg,
That look and smell so ripe and fine and fresh;
But others find that they are on the edge
Of more exotic purchases - the flesh
Of those slave girls and women, men and boys
Who offer up the chance of varied thrills;
The girl who fell asleep and stopped sir's joys
Is hanging chained again - and a tear spills
Down her brown cheek and, thence, onto her chin,
Where it drips to her breasts: both are exposed
For gentlemen to grope, as they begin
To test the merchandise; they'll see the blows
That marked her skin, before he walked away
To auction her whipped hide on market day...