Wednesdays in Winter were bad days… She’d sit in her window but nobody
Came except voyeurs and tourists — their collars turned up and their eyes
Looking down. But nobody looks in her eyes anymore. They stare at her legs
Or they stare at the floor… She’s quick, anti-septic. She’ll touch only
Plastic. lights down, the carpet stays clean. She lies down, she dreams of
A friend in a bright red Mercedes (initalled), who smokes crisp dollar
Bills with a house in the country and a beart like a cherry bomb. BLAST HIM
With promises. Bury him deep and she’ll weep at the funeral; she’ll creep
In a customised sack. And she’ll laugh all the way to the bank… and
She’ll smash all the windows. She’ll smash the windows. Red lights
Dripping. Free the slaves. SMASH the windows. Flay the dogs who laid her
And made her womb a children’s coffin. Every stone’s a seed that fell on
Thorny ground. A desert. SMASH it down. Turn the fucking stinking world to
Stone. Smash the wondows, smash the atom. Smash the core of heaven because
It’s all….
A lie, a lay, a secret (alas).
