She walks into the waiting room
the telltale aura of her life
wafting after.

Be still; concentrate.
Like a bloodhound
you can sniff it out.

She fries food.
There’s a dog and a child.
A dry shower stall,
unused shampoo.
Sex an hour ago.

He loves monster trucks
and “Jackass.”
She hides the remote sometimes,
gloats when she knows the answers
on “Jeopardy” and he pouts.
Hoping to trade up
he sees other women on the side,
won’t marry her..

She knows.
She hungers for something
and doesn’t know it.

Hurt holds her captive
with the strong arms
of a rapist.

She searches your face
for a shred of nice,
eyes pleading,
“Don’t judge.”

Our stories surround us.
You can smell them
like an open book.

c. 2008 KK

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