The occupant sips wine,
*** burning fingers,
her only company
are the cockroaches
that sanctuary in the wallpaper
which peels like sunburn.
Faded linoleum floor
ceiling drips
mirror cracked
blank face staring back.
She sits alone,
grown children flown
like her husband.
Stereo whines from her night stand
‘I have a prince who is waiting
and a kingdom downtown’,
as she gazes through the window
(cracked with cold)
through weepy condensation,
hair knotted with stress
not long enough to let down
for the nobody who waits outside.
Clothes hang like ghosts
suspended from lines,
police cars shriek,
dogs without leashes rumage
through last nights meal.
She toasts to the moon,
lonely like her.
Unnoticed,
outshone
by blaring lights.
She pours another glass,
as the moon tucks in its trailing robe,
dreading the dawn that begins to break.