Where might she go this eve
the end of another week
full of treasures and surprises
for her friends.
Lights still shine down the corridor
she sits still before the neon screen
wondering whether she may stand
take a chance
As she had the day before
left alone in the space of an odd meaning
sweating away at endless reports
without meaning.
She fears what may happen as she will
rise and drive to her abandoned domain
cold as a realm forgotten by spring life
with no warmth to find.
She may cry in secret
for to them she loves in delight
her chest tight as in the grip of a vise
desperate for a gentle smile.
Soon she will depart this world of plywood
bright fibers flavored with aromas of a
stale brew sterile as the desert of Antarctica
to go home. What home?
The envy of the man who shivers
the modest abode just a place to rest
seems safe so long as she remains unaware
of the loveless hours.
She may dream and she may scream
in the unforgiving cold of lonely nights
yet she knows it is a brief respite
within the terrible cycle of hopeless years.
