No disillusions
Or illusions for that matter
All I sleep with is my own hair
Hair prevents me to hear
The doorbells and the laughter
I’m sure they’re there
How sure are you?
“Wicked” she said
Smiling into a mirror reflection
I repeated her gesture
In vain
Suggesting matters get sorted out in close proximity of my elbow
Nothing got done
Although her smile went down
The drain like the rest of it
And her dress stopped staining her underwear
For at least a few good washes
Spring
Yes, we all knew what that meant
Although only just pretending to
Still be asleep
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