But I'll Miss You More
Air kisses and cheap scents, extravagant endearments
Thumbing glossy magazines, adoring all the movie queens.
You come every afternoon, for Earl Grey and girlish swoons.
Smoke cigarettes and strike a pose. Till he comes home, that’s how it goes.
If you go, he’ll miss you one day. If not today, maybe washday.
No breakfast, that will make him sore. He’ll miss you but I’ll miss you more.
This is as real as real gets, no muscle men or suffragettes.
The world wears a scowling face so we invent a secret place
Of glamour, glitter and elegance, where a prince could offer us a dance.
Men don’t lurch home drunk and crude and a queen can pass undisapproved.
You’ve got some money and a strategy to escape this prison and make yourself free.
You know you have my sympathy but if you leave here, then what of me?
Five o’clock, and the dream is dead. Filigree has turned to lead.
You rush off to play the wife and I drown in my lonely life.
You struggle to resist bruising by a bully’s fist.
For me it’s hard to stay afloat among callous types who point and gloat.