A WidowA Poem by Queen LibraThe man's "acid", his words, were spit at her so often that she finally cracked under the pressure and became the ideal woman, a skeleton. Kind of a strange play on images of young women.Oops -
I slipped on the floor
And my clothes are stained with
The dye, poisonous,
That you spilled the day before.
The hot green acid is eating away
At my dress,
My flesh,
My skeleton remains.
Did you think that you'd see
Me,
Floating away? An angel to Heaven?
Well, not all angels are given that honor.
I must suffer
In my bones forever.
Aren't you tickled to live with me:
Skeleton Sally, so fragile, so ageless.
Aren't I every living man's dream?
© 2011 Queen LibraReviews
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