One Woman

The empty chair stares
across my small room.
An empty  chair, orange,
disgusting as the colour of cheap hotels
and battered lampshades,
its dirty gloom hides
the silting in the corners.

And I sit alone, even you
my new found friend do not 'phone.
I was thrown
into the past, it was shoved in my
face by a stupid film:
and his kiss and his kiss ...
his tongue the
touch of love - he was young.

And I, an unsung heroine
a room of my own
with no income but words
and my heart not at home.
I am absurdly melancholic
for this Aquarian age, and
of no good use.

Come into my aloneness
as just one woman
in the vastness of the world
that radiates from here: I
and one orange chair
staring empty there.

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