Nothing Going on but The Rent

by on January 2, 2009 :: 0 comments

She is happy when
She is with me, so
She says.

She drinks.
She laughs.
She dances.
She sings.

She rants on life and
I listen.

She moans in passion, and
I listen.

And though 15 years my senior, with
A certain look, or
A kiss behind the ear,

Will have her blushing and giggling
Like a schoolgirl.

And that’s all good, but laughter
And happiness doesn’t pay the rent.

She misses me when I’m not around, so
She says.

After three days of my absence, like clockwork
She calls, and
She looks back on the time
We spent together days ago, or the nights before.

I guess those memories keep
Her going, but
Memories don’t pay the rent.

So, as
I write this piece, as
I listen to poets, as
I drink, dance, and rant on stage.

She’s at home with the man
She pretends to love. And while

She’s in the bedroom watching TVLand,
He’s checking his MySpace page, while switching
His cell to vibrate.

Because in their home, there’s nothing going on but
The rent.

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