Francine Two

She laughs and hums a tune, says it’s stupid to lie, it’s just what we do, we skirt around the garden, she gives another sigh, children are late home, more like a whispered ooh, her failing sight, fills the afternoon, the same dull hollow, a broken light, whispers up from below, don’t ask me why, she faces ruin, it makes me cry, she’s not one for show, says she’ll go out high, pretend she’s in New York, make her voice boom, rage over the night, men say that they knew, she wanted to fly.