Second Act

Weeds in the flowerbed
latching on to what is dead
like the driest parts of the concrete
right after a downpour.
An old woman works
a high school level job
to supplement the money
they dish out to her through mailmen
every month though it is not enough
to even keep her going.
They cauterize the holes poked
in her stomach with what
looks to almost anyone
like a magic wand
with lightning at the tip of it.
She takes the money
from the customers
and clips it into drawers
she cannot open without
permission from the boss.
She fields complaints all day
about the rising cost of everything,
and all she can say is sorry
she can’t help them.
No one can help anyone
in any way that matters
without in someway
saying no to what’s expected.
You have to abandon the ship
when there is nothing left
to stop it being eaten by the sea,
but who are we but humble passengers
with looking glasses brought inside from home?
The ones who aren’t afraid to take a stand
alone.

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