what did you call her…some kind of name…some kind of derogatory term…you were insulting her…making fun…I remember…said it when she wasn’t ’round…couldn’t defend herself…said she was a whore…an old whore who gave up years ago…that’s what you said…that’s exactly what you said…

and I remember I used to follow her ’round town on Friday night’s when I got paid…trackin’ her down as she walked along Division Street…walked with a limp…and had on that brunette wig that was always a little off…crooked…I’d watch her pick up johns as they drove by…get in the cars and gave em head over in the church parkin’ lot…a place where all sins festered…ten minutes later they’d drive her back to Division Street to get in a car with somebody else…went on this way til the sun came up…til the birds chirped in the early mornin’ breeze…

she used to count her money over at the Pollack bar next to the Post Office…six o’clock in the mornin’ and she’d be in there with the construction workers…mailmen…drunks…junkies…whores…drinkin’ shots of cheap vodka and Malort…cans of Old Style…screwdrivers made with orange drink…smoke so thick…couldn’t breath in the joint…

I don’t see her ’round anymore…the woman you called an old whore…wonder what became of her…probably wound up dead…maybe she took off for another town…maybe like Mary she found her Jesus…some man saved her soul while the rest of us are stuck here on Division Street…just wastin’ away…just wastin’ away…