A Mistake
Her kisses were empty, emolument
for his friendship, drowsy, lazy dragées
for his sadness. And she turned off the light,
deciding to bivouac by his side, blanketless,
wanting him gone by morning.
When she woke, the sun,
glowing like a liver in hosptial light,
stood in her mauve curtains,
a pudgy hussy, an ingratiating gossip,
as if her twelve year old sister, arms akimbo,
were chanting morning, morning, morning!