Poem: shut-up prizes – 24/01/20

Contemplate ahead of the moment
where precious jewels sparkle upon fingers of 
mad yet calculated women,
where even madder men will fight to keep them happy
but with their demands, ongoing,
complaints, eternal sufferings,
maddest men’s eyes look elsewhere,
for new hands to bear,
new hearts to win over.
The bejewelled, once beguiling women,
tap tap tap their manicured nails upon the sink,
waiting for their husbands to return late from work,
his inevitable sigh to engulf the room,
of his own self-proclaimed suffering,
and roll in he does, scented by 
the faintest lingering perfume,
she turns her face away, hurt, as though slapped but nothing’s said or done.
She will pretend she doesn’t notice,
this time, and the next,
because out of the slightest guilt borne from his activities,
he purchases her more jewels,
more gold, then an increase of her credit limit,
and she supposes this is all she deserves,
if she were to leave him,
she’d have far less,
in comparison it’d seem as though nothing,
so, gritting her teeth she smiles
when receiving the shut-up prizes.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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