The Whore

Inspired by an article in my local newspaper it was being discussed in a cafe. I felt like weeping!

Prostitute found dead the papers said
Wounds to the genitals breast and head
Cast aside in a corner dark
Of the municipal park
Like some rubbish in a bag
Just some whore? Some little slag?

Or a teenage girl who was all alone
Who'd a baby daughter of her own
Who was big sis to her little brother
A much loved child of a single mother
Used, abused and thrown aside
In pain and terror when she died

If we don’t look behind headline
Move on quickly then we’ll be fine
Otherwise we may feel grief
Or, god forbid, change a fixed belief
She was just some whore who got hers
But, perhaps a mention in our prayers?

We may feel brief pity, heave a sigh
There, but for the grace of God, go I
Then turn the page, find the sport
Shit happens when you’re born that sort
It’s just society nothing more
And, after all, she was just a whore

(Wasn't she?)