She’s there again
The young woman
Lying on the step
Her face looks red and puffy
Despite the tan colour of her skin.
Beer cans roll in the gutter,
And her rucked up sleeve reveals
A host of track marks on her arms.
But her clothes are good
And when she speaks
It isn’t in a helpless babble.
There is a hardness to her
As though she’s pressed the self-destruct
And I wonder what he did to her
That makes her care for nothing
But oblivion.

