Bad Habitation

    
                    
                          ”Bitch, I know where
                          you live,” her threats ring
                          as hollow as the rest of it.
                          
                          Um, no. You don’t know.
                          My walls are empty of pictures.
                          Tiger-skin rug? Ain’t my floor.
                          No wall mirrors in florid frames.
                          No fancy furniture flaunting
                          fleeting opulent pretenses.
                          
                          I wouldn’t live there
                          even if I won the lottery
                          or came into my inheritance
                          or did what I do well
                          enough to live in style.
                          
                          Her craft at imagining
                          me in a room I’d never
                          dream up nor expect
                          makes her no better
                          a judge of character
                          than she is of the one
                          who keeps her
                          in her place.
        

        


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One Response to Bad Habitation

  1. slpmartin says:

    Oh…this one made me chuckle because of the tone of the poem…have a joyous holiday!

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