Siren

It must have been nice

To be

The rich girl

Maybe

It was hell

To never wonder

Or fear

For bread

For safety

But you didn’t have that

Either

Did you

Maybe it’s worse

To fear everything

About nothing

Benzodiazepines

Dirty

Martinis

Really

How far away

Are the talons of wealth

From the stakes

Of poverty

How far

Are you really

From me

Always

On the other side

Of the track

Fingers

Intertwined

A little more diligent

More ready

A lot less

Afraid

But

We are the same

The same

The same

The same

We may never see it

This chasm

What’s a decent name for

She

Blue or green

Or red

We aren’t allowed

To name

Her

My siren

Swirling

Wrapping wet

Like a towel

After skiing

When they promised

There were no sharks

No worries

For the rich girls

Anyway