Sandy

Alone at the bus station, you ask for a smoke, like an injured patient, in a green coat alone, someone who goes for broke, the prodigal girl forlorn, who sweeps aside elation, like convicts fix roads, in a desire for medication, wooden benches lie spoken, its the way you joke, drinking with sad blokes, no red letters of fragrance, lost in a lipstick brawl, when bottles are partaken, dark glasses won't atone, neither will telephones home, your heart's not of stone, tossed pennies fall.