She's so lonely.

The windows fogged up with condensation,
Bacon sizzles, burning in a pan,
she leans on the counter,
eyes looking nowhere.
Toast pops.
She turns with a butter knife,
Nothing to wear under her gown,
Lights up a cigarette between her lips,
She is thanks without a glance,
Breakfast presented on the table.
Sitting on a wooden stool,
she picks a piece of toast from his plate,
Kissed on the head and grunted salutations.
Alone at home she cleans and she smokes,
Maybe at lunch she will dress and paint her nails.
Tight ripped jeans and bright print top,
Too the shops to gather toilet paper and beer.
Devilled sausages and mashed potato,
a fine prepared cuisine.
Sit's opposite him a the table,
sip's beer and dips bread in the gravy.
Shower together, there is only one towel.
Carried to bed, have sex with her there,
Beautiful wife sit's in bed,
wearing nothing under her gown,
her smoke burns between her fingers,
and occasionally between her lips,
Something's on her mind.


Kerry Samuel
Aug/Sep 2007