The scarlet lady stands under the slanted lamplight
Waiting for the predators of the night
She carries a handbag of inexpressible sorrow
And maybe a handgun, and may be tomorrow
She will find some way to waste the cursed affliction;
Avoid eviction; satiate the haunted hunted addiction.
Get a job ; maybe in a restaurant
Get therapy; but for now she’s vigilant.
The cars cruise by the kerb, and a punter slows down;
One sicko tonight, dressed in his partner’s bridal gown.
Sometimes she wants to use that gun and somehow blast away the sickness
Lance the abscess; rid her soul of this wretchedness.
For now she hopes again and despises herself as the car draws near;
And her heart is full of fear; but the hardened eye will allow no tear;
Bracing herself she sees her child in a ragged tent, ravished with Malaria
In her war torn village in Somalia
Were death to take him from her now
She could in peace avow;
To end this double death of her tortured soul
And go gladly into that dark pit , of deaths black hole
But each week she saves , and sends some money home,
And prays whispering at that celestial dome,
That she can somehow have him here,
That’s all that matters now; to have him near.
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