The Good Time Girl
She was beautiful in a floozy sort of way too much
lack in her hair and dramatic make up.
When I was young and before I married I used to
visit her when the need was there.
Well I got married and was happy for some time,
but my wife left and we divorced.
I visited the old tart again as she had been accommodating,
but her life style had taken bitter its toll.
She was glad to see me, but when she undressed her
body had cigarette burns that spoke for itself.
I put her dress on; she had a defaulting breathing yet
lit a cigarette… I called for an ambulance.
She died in the night of emphysema and I thought
why didn’t I love her instead of my ex wife?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem