This Planet of Mine


What is this planet of mine?

Stretched between two posts on the clothesline?


A clothesline sagging with sinners and beggars,

Of hopelessness and despair

Of wannabes and naggers

Always wishing on a prayer


A canopy of stars watches at a distance, unaware

That the wind has picked up and tries desperately to blow them away

That the clouds, pregnant with rain, will drain the leftover lipstick from the affair

And that, in the morning mist, she will love again and find her way


Tucked far into the pockets, you’ll find racism and hatred

In the apron, blood, sweat and tears

In the yoga pants, buried deep between stitches, bulimia and anorexia

And underneath the crisp, white blouse, a layer of self-doubt that never fades


She will find comfort in the old, the sick and the hungry

Because, like her, they have dealt with enough savagery from humanity

Her clothes will smell fresh again and feel snugly

Before they hang up again on the clothesline for all to see