AN EMPTY FRIDGE

mirrors the emptiness

of an utterly alone widow.

She cracks her back falling down

in her garden. Sounds of longing

define the contours of her breath.

I come to her rescue, — she squawks

the gravely screech of an old crow,

her spindly legs wobble

like a new-born calf, she stumbles,

leaving a wake of flatulent firecrackers.

Yearning to be held, she finds comfort

in beer, chips and fudge bars.

She hides her vulnerability

behind a Gravel Gerty persona.

Oh, What she would give for one kiss!

She cries herself to sleep listening to a rain

that never ends.