“Prostitutes are undoubtedly the most vulnerable group of people in society”
– Chris Armitt, the national police lead for prostitution in England and Wales, where around 80,000 prostitutes work.
Officers do not share
lower ranking soldiers’ whores
as they fight
for kin; for country
in the first world war
Officers are given armour
soldiers are given risks
sti’s count 1 in 5
trench-side medical admissions
Blue light bulb for officers
Red light bulb for common man
I did not learn these facts
in my history curriculum
xxx
There was no sex
in the trenches
no privacy to masturbate
but millions of
fit, young men
away from home
awaiting fate
and despite what textbooks state
about the role of wives, of girls, of mums
not every woman laboured
on the home front
xxx
The French sets legal brothels up
military Maison Tolerée
USA, as always, argues abstinence
of course, their men do not abstain
within weeks of US joining ranks
without the health checks of the French
syphilis spreads like springtime seeds
across the soles of war-weak men
Sometimes I wonder what they wanted
these soldiers swapping wage for sex
A quick release! to come! no more
swollen lust won’t help the war
British medical officials stated.
Others disagreed.
Some soldiers hunted holes for STD’s
to grant some leave in doctors arms
Some searched in sex work’s softer palms
for woman’s warmth to sallow cheeks
to float weak knee’d in gift-wrapped legs
to choke in breaths of cheap perfume
Stuff nostrils quick from trench-hell scents!
to dance; to drink; forget; escape
to sip on nipples, soft as home
feel mouth to mouth no blood has stained
to scream in arms that don’t let go
oh what a tiny price to pay!
to feel warm lips wrapped round your cock
the soothing suck
don’t stop don’t stop
Closed eyes
One moment’s loss of pain
For those who miss their love each night
a comfort blanket stitched in guilt
for some, still boys, so many virgins, forced to die
the knowledge, once, of adulthood
no wonder queues filled the streets
like doc leaves to the sting of nettle
sex work rages wild
near every major battle
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
– Only the monstrous anger of the guns’
300 men one day queued up
come quick last prayer for dying sons’
and what then of the women; shh
don’t talk about the war time whore
Most illiterate; most peasant poor
for some, no other means of money making
for some, a chance to make some more
for some, the need to feed a child
for some, some fun to pass a wage
for some, forced pimp, forced family trade
for some, a bed or makeshift strecher
for some bent double beggar
quick behind a bush
paid pittance for a
left-hand wank
for none, a name
medal; mention; thanks
Some serviced fifty soldiers every day
did sex the way men come in sex
In and out and out and in
day and night and mouth and legs
She does not come! Come thrush up high
and sing that birdsong’s lullaby !
how much it rubs between her thighs
when boys ride rough on red insides
no break, soon friction burns dry skin
her urine turns carving knives
it cuts it cuts; her pee bleeds fire
as more men queue
to lose desire
and she, drunk too
with war fatigue
is shamed, erased from history
We teach our kids of death in war
sculpt monuments to those who led
praise factories forging bullets
for men to fire at other men
the bus tour stops
at cenotaphs
a selfie with the unnamed grave
But god forbid!
god, forbid!
we ever mention
how depraved!
the women working war-time sex
because that would be too much for sure
I wonder do we realise
we’re not Victorian Britain anymore
I wonder
throughout history
how many soldiers
final solace
was cradled
in the breasts
of these shameful
nameless women
I will not learn this fact
in my history curriculum
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