A crowded room,
Out of place.
There at the enticements of your pretty-boy escorts:
Oedipally complicated mothers' sons who lavished
A forgotten decade,
Across the rim of a glass,
Salt tears biting.
You flew away to Germany:
Playing wife to your mental case soldier husband.
A card at Christmas-no return address.
You had never wanted to be found to begin with.
Nancy Hill © January 2002
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