My Soul in Ashes
I cannot write – and though I’ve tried all night
The words remain elusive;
Picking out a sentence here and there
What does a sentence matter?
I hear the wind outside, I hear
The low pitched moaning of a stray
And as the curtains flutter…….
I cannot write.
In the silent streets leaves
Trip up and down
But die without remonstrance in the gutter.
On my way downstairs I tip-toe
Stealthy, like a thief,
But somehow time for feminine discretion’s disappeared
And each unpainted step creaks wildly
As I wrap my scarf around.
A sordid little scene in his back bedroom;
I know it isn’t for the pleasure that I go – dull
Lanky girls like me take outlets
Lovely girls need never dream of ….
Arranging quiet meetings is a trouble;
Unless you’ve whispered times on launderette phones
You cannot know how hard it is to be impervious
When ladies prick their ears.
I could not have guessed that life would come
To this – grease in my hair
And ladders in my tights;
No one to get in touch or ask me how I am
No one for me to ring or pass the time,
No letters waiting on the threadbare carpet
A one room bed-sit, poky, badly lit;
If my mother could only see me now
If my father had an inkling – but they don’t –
And can’t and I won’t spill the beans
About this seamy small existence in a forgotten town;
And I won’t describe abortions carried out
By smug young doctors who lectured and reproved
And talked of dread diseases….such a dirty girl.
Not a girl now daddy – more like a freak who hangs out
Where all those nasty men wait for the pleasure
Of a cheap, disgusting thrill
To pay my rent and buy my next lipstick.
A garish anguished stare into the mirror,
Disarray of hair and worry lines
I don’t see ever much beyond the morrow;
Footsteps at the door, nicotine on his fingers,
Next week’s bread and gin – and note book –
A syphilitic cough:
Our lives entwined for twenty sweaty minutes;
My soul in ashes on the bedroom floor…..
( I didn’t really know where to post this but if it should be elsewhere feel free to let me know. ) ( Ps – this is not my autobiography – with respect to ‘ladies of the night’! )