Look around you, She is there somewhere. You may even know Her.

She sits on the couch lost in her dream,
Of times gone by, when he was here.
Remembers the good times, or so they seem.
Tries to forget the pain and the fear.

She looks at the clock and puts down her drink,
Stretches and walks across the floor.
Moves toward the kitchen sink.
Starts cleaning up, as she awaits the knock on the door.

She goes to the ‘fridge and looks inside,
Just bread and butter, Pie and a little milk.
Food became scarce, when love it died.
Gone are the days of satin and silk

Little feet run down the hall, kids are home.
She washes her face to hide the tears.
She’s taught them never the streets to roam.
To avoid all the darkness and fear.

She makes their tea just bread and pie
Hugs them and tucks them into their beds,
Reads them a story, to sleep with a sigh.
She strokes their hair, kissing their tiny heads.

A knock on the door, the sitter’s arrived at last.
A teenage girl from down the hall.
A child with a future, too young for a past.
Just school books, skipping and playing ball.

She leans against the Factory wall, listens to a Sally band
The cold wind blows though her flimsy dress.
She longs for a smoke to warm her hand.
Smoothes her hair, to look her best.

Watching the cars go slowly driving by,
She wonders how they live their lives.
A Limo’ stops, she gives a sigh.
And wonders, “Do these men have wives”.

She climbs in the car, they drive away.
Away from the cold, rest aching feet.
She does not care what others say,
In the morning her children will eat.

Robin. A. Spicer © 2003