entices her more and more
each bland minute that passes by.
Frank calls out, “Darling, are you decent?”
and she nearly replies “No,”
before realizing what he meant was,
was she clothed.
“I’m coming,” she tweets softly
and gives another glance at the world from a distance. Her eyes dilate and re-dilate trying to find the light but instead find her reflection
starring back at it.
Frank is a kind man, she thinks,
and knowing where this train is headed,
allows it one more stop,
But I deserve more.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she says with a stand
and walks toward the door,
making sure to twist the ring he’d given her
to showcase its bedazzlement.
“My, my what a sight my dear!”
“Thank you, Frank,” and although said with sincerity,
the formality of it was not lost on him.
“Of course,” and with a funny look
he took her arm and led her out the door.
The world is a stage and he’s the stagehand.
She is the day player on display
and how she smiles is like this:
The checks get shorter,
and the eyelids squint.
Her lips, they stay together as
her chin goes up and then back down,
as if nodding at displeasure.
And her heart skips a beat
from the disappointment of it all.
How every aching moment of his presence
makes her mull,
over every wrong decision
that she made on his elision
of their life together
and how she’d never
have another chance
at her own circumstance.
She now belonged