Mary Jones

No one knew from where she came – This wild and vulgar “dime for a dance dame”

Mary Jones was the name she used – sold her dignity for a bottle of booze.

Her days were short, her nights were long – The corner bar was where she belonged

Morning, noon and into the night – Her presence there was a permanent sight.

Her radical behavior came to an end – when the eyes of a man lured her in.

He renewed and strengthened her damaged soul. – He convinced her of a profitable goal.

His confidence was assuring, his promise was sweet – as he spoke of his plan for her on the street.

In no time at all she became human bait – With each hook of her flesh she sealed her own fate.

Then one cold and lonely night – the traffic was slow the trading was light.

She thought of the beating she’d receive for sure – but this time she couldn’t take any more.

Down a dark alley away from the street she ran and ran for the freedom she’d seek.

She felt so ashamed, she felt so alone, but with the stench of the streets how could she go home?

With tears in her eyes, her vision a blur, a car struck her down instantly killing her.

Her twelve-year-old body lay cold on the ground – a library card was all that they found.

Mary Jones? Was this her name? This wild and vulgar “dime for a dance dame”

No one cared when her body was found – folks merely said, “she was a kid in town.”