almost pretty

cigarettes and old sweat
the pungent stench
of poverty’s moldered wishfulness
it fills your nostrils
until they flare, out of control
trying to rid themselves
of its acrid lingering
of its slow-wallow burn
what a pair they’d grown to be
her stout body bent, and tilting
her eyes nearly closed
the lids so heavy
I’d thought her blind
at first encounter
tho when she spoke
something just above a whisper
she pushed one eyebrow up
with a crooked finger
so that I could see
her eyes’ pale sapphire
and she smiled
wide, and yellow
almost pretty–
his jeans and nylon jacket
caked with filth, and with regret
the kind that never comes clean
his eyes, dark and restless
held fear, and shame, and anger
he wasn’t good to her
the things he’d said–
about leaving her
but all we’ve got
is all we’ve got
and at least
despite the talk
he’d stayed
long enough
that now
she was

3 Replies to “almost pretty”

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