I’ve reached the point of survival home free.
Why do I feel so damned pointless and numb?
Senior Ms. Reinhard, retired at home.
Nothing accomplished and feeling quite dumb.
Friends all around me, causes ripe to pursue.
Warmth doesn’t penetrate my icy chill.
Who are you? Why are you? Where did you go?
What does this lame old broad want for a thrill?
Feels like I dangle between life and death.
Free to do anything but it’s too hard.
I won’t find Prince Charming or become the
Famous and honored suburbanite Bard.
Stroke, a heart attack, or a broken limb
Is more likely my award than a Tony.
I don’t read. I write theatrical noise.
Her Highness, intellectual phony.
And yet, and yet, and yet, I cannot stop.
And yet, and yet, and yet, I soldier on.
Not clever, not polished, nor beautiful.
Perpetuating one Helluva con.