I’m in the combat zone of Boston, MA,
back when I’m about 25 and reckless.

I spy a girl I went to high school with
in the combat zone all by herself.

The combat zone known for strip clubs
and hookers plying their trade there.

She doesn’t want any conversations.
I sense some shame in her demeanor,

and I sense, to my surprise, she’s
a working girl there. I wonder how she

went from a quiet high school girl to
a prostitute in the combat zone.

It’s one of my life’s mysteries I’ll never
find out the answers too.

And I really don’t want to know the
awful details of how she got into that life.

Bob Boyd