 |
| Botero |
The maid arrives at sunrise, to sweep away
cigarette butts and discarded bottles.
She doesn't like the bloody parrots;
only adds to the mess she has to clean up.
She steps over the drunk on the floor,
face down and asleep in an ale induced haze,
later she will help him home and into bed.
The girl sits in her underwear and stockings,
drinking from a bottle, the liquor now tasting bitter,
her pretty green headband adorns another.
He can keep it, she thinks. It matches his socks.
Besides, he wears her dress. A cotton frock,
with thin shoulder straps and lace trimming.
He always insists on doing his own makeup.
She adores him while he cherishes her.
A love based on trust and friendship, not lust.
They embrace and hold each other, giving comfort
and kindness, shutting out the world around them.
Like the nameless soul who stands at the bar.
He wants only to spend a few hours in the barmaid's arms,
before heading back to the bed of another.
Meanwhile, another collected his jacket and hat,
was going to move on, then changed his mind.
Just one more. That was six drinks ago.
Earlier on he tried talking to the parrot but,
all too quickly, the bird tired of his prattle.
He doesn't believe in love, minds none for company.
Had his heart broken once and is still waiting for it to mend.
© the dishonest woman
