SINGLE MOTHER WITHOUT KIDSI walk into the kitchen, ahead of the curve, behind in my rent, loaded with the same tired baggage. Looking out the window, I see the laundry, remember my old hangups. I take out the coffee beans, go through the usual morning grind. Rain starts to fall. I look at the wet blanket, remember what everybody said at the last supper. Why am I always the martyr, the victim, the one holding the wornout old bag. Watching the cat on the sidewalk, Im reminded how everybody walks all over me. Tabby limps in dragging an anchor. Another bad day for this tired old pussy.
Tokyo Tues 06/29/04