Little Jem

She was seven years old, tiny and pretty,
Mischievous, adventurous, friendly and witty.

She told me her dad was not allowed near,
The police and the courts had said so last year.
We were too young to understand what she told me that day,
But I held her hand and wiped a tear away.
He'd sealed her fate with those monstrous acts,
never again would she find her way back.

All our days felt like summer, we'd climb every fence,
We'd look after stray dogs (looking back, that makes sense...)
Her mother was nowhere, never seemed to care,
That suited us fine, she had me - I had her.
We'd make-believe we were sisters, Jemma & me,
We took the place of each other's family.

We'd pretend we lived wild! making dens that would rival
The ones that you see on Ray Mears' survival.
We pinched sweets and picked berries to eat in our den,
We'd laugh and tell stories and sometimes we'd sing.
We sheltered inside it during warm summer showers,
The smell of the rain was soothing - and ours.

Years rolled by, we developed separate habits,
I was a stoner, her - a smack addict.
She was only fifteen when she sought out and found me,
A mark on her face from the client on Friday.
She needed me, would I help her? she inquired,
Yes! of course, bring your things, you look hungry and tired.

Days turned to weeks but she never came back,
The news report read:

"Prostitute: Found dead in a flat"