Modern Travesty

 

She bought a flat

In the sparkling town.

Made of brick,

Vines running down.

 

She dressed it up

In shades of green,

rugs on the floor

like a Persian queen.

 

She hung down lights

that twinkled merry,

painted the door

like a trampled berry.

 

She lit a fire

In the mortared hearth

and soaked in mugs

of copper warmth.

 

And when the morning

came and went,

she left the flat

to go be spent.

 

She spent the day

at a plastic desk

where the phone kept ringing,

the callers brisk.

 

She spent her dimes

to repay her loans,

and joined the masses

in their moans.

 

She spent her tears

in a bathroom stall,

when the man who loved her

didn’t love her at all.

 

She came back home

to the little flat,

cried to sleep

curled like a cat.

 

And in the morning

when the sun rose red,

she rose up like it

to do it all again.

 

She left the flat

and her insides groaned

with the hunger pains

of an empty home.

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