Yes she’ll tell him that
next time tell him about
it all but until then she’ll
let him stew let him think

he has it all in the bag let
him think he’s won the
battle but she knows he
knows only half the game

she knows that much more
and anyway the war’s in
her sights now the game
is almost won she draws

on her cigarette lets the
smoke hit the back of her
throat feels the air about
her hears the music from

the other room as out in
the streets others celebrate
the New Year in their fashion
she hears their voices raised


their songs sung drunkenly
but he is but a loose page in
her book a mere footnote
in her book of life as if she’d

consent to be his lover or his
wife he thinks it’s almost on
the cards almost in the bag
but she knows better knows

how the game ends then thinking
back to her childhood as she
blows out smoke her father’s
dull eyes his voice filtering into

her dreams his hand punching
or smacking or lending the black
or blue her mother dull witted
saying nothing not knowing what

to do scars of her childhood leak
and ooze their memories and aches
and pains and dark corners and fears
as she inhales the smoke again yes

she’ll tell next time maybe if the
mood takes her she’ll wait and see.