Nervous in her life station,
she tries to contain her anguish.
Her changes show compulsion:
a default haircut to appease,
posture straight to put at ease.
A variant of herself in paint
stares back from the dingy mirror;
A convict so fallen,
infected with poison to testify.
For the value of the hustle
they pander to combine.

Her whisper of wording, in ears,
given in platitudes to entice -
ease her anxiety. She feels
like a suspect in contradiction.
The laugh in her head is cutting,
though musical to the lustful
climate in her employ,
and the benefit of the coup
will keep her on the narrow highway
they have violated her on.
She will soldier on. It is
central to her survival through the lies.