She clings to the fringes of the day;
The facile acts that hinge one drama to the next
And last as long as a bulb of sand in a glass timepiece,
Casting off the work of ordinary
Burden for a vagrant’s turn on a bed frame and
An aimless look at the day’s broad facts and forecasts.
Her attention span stretching the
Length of an arm as she switches channels and
Catches another showboat’s worth of the less fortunate;
Feeding her smoke to housebroken
Fogs whilst perfuming her rooms to be rid of the
Stink and eating food fetched from the cheapest outlet.
Passing out access to her children
As if successful in their care, and not simply court
Ordered to do so, and acting as jailor at the same time;
Flashing that vicious smile of the
Self satisfied as she dwells by the well as you leave,
Drawing a quarter of gin to begin with before moving on.
Without remorse or recourse to
Important material, and lacking opinion or impact,
Or tact for the tracks of life that can find anything more;
The tassels of her trail are cat picked
And frayed, dust loved and publicly cherished,
Whilst knotted together in order to be less forgotten than me.