Her heart is singing to a song from the sixties
of love and joy, holding hands, exchanging
She pats her hair and pouts for the mirror,
does little dances, her skin is “so much clearer”
checking her watch she packs up her make-up
we know, she doesn’t, of the impending break
tweaks final settings adjusting the wrinkles
the silk of her blouse makes her sunbed tan
she grabs for her phone at the text message
a long kind of letter from this evening’s darling
who says he’s so sorry he meant to call sooner
and it’s not her it’s him, he didn’t want to
upset her
she slams the phone down and feels tears in her
as the truth starts to hit her and she sees all
his lies
another rejection and heart-broken again
by a painful line of self-centred men.

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