You smile
while
to your lips
your raise a glass
of poison,
glass of death,
constant fill
to dull the pain
of changes lost
and dreams forgotten.

You hide
behind
sunglasses at night
hoping no one notices
your glazed eyes
no thought
to disguising
your stammering walk

The world’s your stage
your famous number: the soft shoe stagger
brings down the house
before the final curtain falls

Copyright © 2004 Pamela Hamilton