O where
O where
can my baby be,
is she a dead mystery,
now just ancient history?

I have million dollar questions
& I stand alone,
holding the bag
with an empty billfold.

She wore swastikas
on her forehead like scabs,
etchings that perhaps
blinded her heart &
the bitterness did flow,
a lifeblood
hardening her sweet-soul.

She acted bold,
took wild risks,
pulled people from the line-up,
taking potshots with their emotions,
play-acting with other humans,
as if she were the only one
with heart break.

Well,
little did she know,
she had no monopoly on pain,
I did.