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