She sits on the edge of the couch,
bony fingers turn a strand of hair
round- a- round- a- round,
eyes fixed on the grazing sheep.
There is emptiness over the hills.
Her head turns slowly, flower on
a shriveling stalk seeking the sun.
She shuffles to her room on
bare feet with yellow toenails.
On the wallpaper next to her bed
is a playground of numbers,
drawn with soft pencil. She dials.
When he answers she wails,
come and get me lover,
she is poisoning me again.
