her face has never been so tired.
in her foxglove foxhole
marigold: Magdalene martyred
by merry men,
(for now, she knows just shopping lines)
they might have loved her once, when she
was young and didn’t need
(she always thinks of antichrist
or maybe antipasti, put it on the list)
staring blankly back from mirrored wall
(you need me woman lest you
lest you fall)
never catch her under streetlights
the shadows never did her any favours anyhow –
a woman’s got to suit herself
and anyway, she’s tired now.