Sunday, February 20, 2011



Cool chrome legs
reflect the stained tile floor
which hold a million footprints
as tight as a hangman’s noose.
The black and white squares
create a path, left to right—
followed only in the darkest nights
between stops of utter failure.
Alone again, she sits,
yet this time more in shadow
as if to hide from the neon light,
flashing bright blue
akin to the firefly near the end of life.
Again she waits
in anticipation of his return,
reminiscent of an old movie
tattered and faded,
repeating the ending over and over.
She waits—lipstick red,
polished shoes and a renewed hope,
waiting to hear the chime above the door
ring for her once again.

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