Sunday, June 22, 2008

You wouldn't know it,
By the colour of her skin
Or the look she gives you
From her seat in the corner
Of the laughing room,
But before the break of day
She has already bought the train ticket
That will take her far away.

In the mid-afternoon sun,
She packs a suitcase
And puts up her hair.

Each time a different destination;
New York, Paris, Halifax.
By evening, she has been drunk away
By thoughts of a new life;
A better beginning.

She can never bring herself to leave.

The night brings his soft, gentle kiss,
Her tired eyes fall finally
As sleep catches her in his arms.

Paris can wait.


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