Improving Virgo's Home

The weight of hope stooped her shoulders,
Bent her into a pale visionary with
A freshly laundered smile.
She nervously joined the morning hustle,

While keys jingled in her head,
Collided with bass riffs plastered
Against the German windows.
New days, new ways, she repeated,
Maneuvering across objectionable lanes of traffic.
New days, new ways to improve.

The ring of winter traveled down telephone
Poles into houses fighting to keep a feather
Of warmth between the freezing sheets.
New days, new ways, she said.
She didn’t believe.
Lies trump litanies in any game,
And she’d left her conviction at home.