She’s tired
too many years
wars and wars and so called freedom
wearing and wearing her out

Pain etched lines across her face
lost loved ones
alcoholics and children
ravaged by life

Pork grease and dirt warmly embrace her
garlic and salami
sing with her sweat
songs of isolation dancing in loneliness

Prolonged survival hardness
elbows her way down the trolley-bus
she stands, stares and glares without seeing
refusing comfort and seats alike

she won’t sit down
because if she did
her pockets would relieve themselves
of her boss’s cutlery