Friday night, smoky skies
Distant stars wane.
Cigarette butts strewn
On the balcony floor send
Signals to them in vain.
Nobody, nobody home.
Saturday morning, cozy and bright.
The closet door falls ajar.
Unkempt dresses hang down
From scores of blue steel hangers
Which clink to say 'here we are'
But nobody, nobody home.
Monday afternoon, crackles of sun
The postman rings twice
To be sure. The electric blue
Bee, buzzes and withdraws. Strands of hair
Criss-cross with stands of sunlight
While the silken shroud billows...
..Under morbidly red rose petals, that she'd hoped would mourn.
Because the clouds were still white, and there was nobody, nobody home.