A Girl, a Cord and a Contract

Each timetable stands on its own merit.

There has to be a certain balance

in the air where perfume hangs.

This room has a calm demeanor

from an occasional whiff of a cigarette,

except, no one there smokes.

This passing moment

sits heavily in the throat

a hard pulse nervously keeps a rhythm

there are proper expectations

outcomes one must keep.

Some take pride in their exacting nature

the joy of following every detail

the best have always pleased.

The girl turns with an obvious question,

and yet, no one offers their reply.

She turns in a more loving manner,

as if this will ease their minds.

It’s an all together too private a moment

for someone to just blurt an answer

still, she knows what she’s done.

She must behave, she hides her thorn

no one will ever notice

it is driven deep in her palm.

It’s sometimes hard not to notice

the pleasurable pain in her face,

still, we try and play along after all

this day has started like all the rest.

There are certain events

that only she acknowledges.

She holds the cord tightly in fists,

and every now and then,

she gives a good hard yank

making sure you’re paying attention

to her well timed

and beloved words.

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