June 13, 2003
volume i, issue xv
In Worship Of Woman
Wayne H.W Wolfson

               I lift black bags for the coroner's office. To keep my mind occupied, I make up a story for every bag. They're always sad.
               The waitress from the coffee shop quit. I don't know why, but this made me sad. A key on a shoestring hung around her neck. I would stare at that key and wonder what she dreamed.
               The nights are getting colder as the days wearily stagger towards their final rest at the end of the year. Alone I walk through the streets. The fallen leaves, someone's last attempt at a love note.
               Out of boredom I fell in love with a dancer and I didn't even know her name. I sank my teeth deep into her want, believing every lie she told me.
               To prove my devotion, everyday I go to the club and order a few drinks, never saying a word.
               "Someday I'll take you away from all this."
               She laughs, hands clutching the corner of the dumpster, as she spills out onto the street in a series of heaves.


wayne h.w wolfson ©2003