Anonymous

I feel for you woman. You with your paisely scarf. Your signet

ring. The wedding band, on your other hand. Skinny fingers, half hidden

in sleeves pulled over them. Of a striped cardigan, grey and blues. Hues of

tears.

I feel for you woman. You with your perfect hair, lean back

in your chair. Your numbed stare.

“A latte please. Yes dear, go out and play. You may.”

I feel for you woman. As you pull out your diary and do

nothing with it. Sit. Then lean forward, drop your head in your hands. Unaware –

as nobody cares – of me.