The Wanna be Sugar

He sat like a broken man

On a worn out couch

Tired, weary, flagging

From a hard

Day pulling wrenches.

Work shirt,

Greasy pants,

Two day growth

On a grizzled chin,

Snoring slightly, and

Cupping in his soiled hand

A pristine phone.

With a message and a heart.

She felt her face burn

With shame and degradation.

So like a vixen she schemed

And thought of a plan

But traded instead

For a dignity all her own

And class to consider.

With liquid courage 

And ram rod back 

She washed her clothes,

Her face, her hair and 

Her hands.

And prepared to be 

alone.

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