ramblings and things

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She  said her ambition had been

To be both a mother and a wife

But a drunken American sailor

Had carved her with a knife,

Leaving her disfigured in

The worst possible place:

A long white scar extending

Down the right side of her face.


The lover who had let her go

On the commercial sex  game

To save for their wedding

No longer felt the same.

And Mary was doomed to follow

The street lady's life

Very little chance now, it seemed

Of becoming a respected wife.


Mary told me her story over a Pils

In Pappa Pronk's canal side bar

On the street of a thousand Windows

Not far from them famous Dam Square.

She laughed and she joked

Said she'd hoped  for much more

But life hadn't been so bad

As a scarred Amsterdam whore.


She had money now

Had invested with care

Could retire when she wanted but

What would she do with time to spare.

She was so selective now

With a chosen clientele

And a life that started badly

Was cruising along so well.


She finished her drink

Said she couldn't be late

Had to rush off to meet

A regular paying date.

I thought of Mary years later

When visiting Dam Square:

Over the months at Pappa Pronk's

I'd shared many a drink with her.


And then of course

My life moved on:

Apart from the memories 

My Amsterdam days were gone.

I hope she'd retired

To a happy and pleasant life,

Maybe even found a man and became 

A much loved and respected wife.

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Drinks With Mary