Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Dowagers Devouring

From behind the camouflage
Of my broadsheet, I watch
Dowagers devour everything
Around them

They are corpulent dressed
In a manner that fails to flatter
Those fleshed-out physiques
Short, squat

Pink skin spilling out,
Blistered flesh in scarlet dresses
I am a miniature doll
In comparison

Through their shrill words
The world intrudes. They discuss
The latest and greatest
Conflagration

Their careless words are weapons,
Torpedoes that soar across the room
They are widows, they are matriarchs
And they wound

They wound, together, while I
Set myself apart for mine
Is a solitary heart and the divide
Is too wide

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