She dyes her hair, paints her face

Dresses to the nines, awaits his embrace

Lipstick, crimson, as red as blood

Skin so soft, like a flower’s bud

Perfumed wrists, her baubles gleam

She prays this night is not a dream

His ravishing smile, her heart skips a beat

She who stands here, alone, on the street

She wonders aloud, “Will he postpone?”

Minutes, hours, no text on her phone

Realizing she’s being used, like a tool

She hangs her head down, feels like a fool

Gets back in her car, as fast as she can

Never again, will she wait, for a man

©Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo via Pixabay CC0