Delilah Back Home in Phoenix

Delilah steps off the bus.
She moves through warm pockets of air,
Kept fed by gravity, pulling, cutting.
Long live the people and pollution.
Delilah, queen of stricken familiarity, sighs,
drops the used ticket into a pale green bin
adorned with vicious silhouettes.
A street walker eyes her jealously and moves away,
applying her wares at leering spectacles.
Delilah does not look back.
She enters the nearest salon,
Kept fed by gravity, pulling, cutting
Long and luscious hair.

The End

1,110 comments about this poem Feed