Social Services

Right before I crossed the tracks,
railroad tracks that is,
I saw a woman
wrapped in an old quilt
clutching a cigrette
and dancing little hops in a circle under
a bare tree in front of a dirty, beatup house.

Her gobs of blonde hair were a mess,
it might have been drizzling,
I don't know how old or young she was,
but I had just been thinking about crack.