The Camp Follower

We spoke, the camp-follower and I.

About us was a cold, pungent odor-

Gun-powder, stale wine, wet earth, and the smell of thou-

sands of men.

She said it reminded her of the scent

In the house of prostitutes she had lived in.

About us were soldiers-hordes of scarlet women, stupidly,

smilingly giving up their bodies -

To a putrid-lipped, chuckling lover-Death ;

While their mistresses in tinsel] whipped them on. . . .

She spoke of a woman she had known in Odessa.

Owner of a huge band of girls,

Who had pocketed their earnings for years,

Only to be used, swindled and killed by some noble-

man. . . .

She said she thought of this grinning woman

Whenever she saw an officer brought back from battle,

dead. . . .

And I sat beside her and wondered.