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A rundown duplex in an old inner city place
The walls smeared with dog  in an outright disgrace
It smelt of no hope and no future for her anyone more
The neighbours complained of loud music and bad language behind her door

We were called one evening and she answered to us
Bleary eyes and drunk she wondered at the fuss
The scars on her face a sad story told 
Of a car crash that maimed her in drink and speed story so old

Photos showed there was a time when she was a good looker
Gone now forever living life as a low class hooker
When she spoke it was slurry and blubbery 
Wanting something she couldn’t have in a horror story
We turned the music down and said it had to stop
In a useless charade they was all that we got

So we left to go back to the world
She remained there a lost soul with little left to be held
And alone she lived on in this downtrodden place
In filth as a struggle with no time or grace

I wrote on the log in upper case
Music turned down AQOL NFPA in the appropriate place
Once and a while we had to go back again
For a similar job and a result that would never an end.

© Paul Warren Poetry

101 is a police code for a disturbance.

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