Each day was spent
in the same way:

Waiting.

She’d smooth her skirt
and fix her red hair,
her reflection staring back at her and saying:
“still waiting?”

She didn’t care
she waited
and waited
for the day that would never
come.

He’d come sweeping in
like he always had
shining from the rain
(he never did like to carry an umbrella),
still smelling of cologne
and everything would be alright
if she just
waited.

Right?

The red lipstick
on his silver coat
laughed in her face

and she laughed back as she left
because she was tired
of waiting.