FALSE WIDOW - THE SEQUEL
I know they're under the eaves scheming
for a next move nothing left to chance.
My torch reveals one taking the outside air at night
in a strung rocking chair,
a perfect design in its world of complexity.
By day nothing is visible except threads
in corners, where futures are made.
A sense of privilege holds me back from destroying them
allowing full rein over my discomfort.
I have built a home
they have built a home
we are therefore in a sense equal
and I am indisputably never alone.