Prostitutes and Husbands

On Cherry Street
The Whiskey Boys
All ran with the Cigarette Girls,
Their sour kisses plying fish-market curves.

Oh, but my man
Didn't take his comfort
In the dusky smell of cigarette smoke,
And his kisses tasted sweet enough for me-

For a time.

Sadly, my man
Too often liked a wet whistle,
And if necessary, could deal with a little smoke
Clinging to the edges of his crisp Zoot-Suit.

Well, on Cherry Street,
All the Whiskey Boys
Ran with the Cigarette Girls,
And I never did care
For the taste of Whiskey, anyhow.

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