I became a criminal when I fell in love. <br />Before that I was a waitress. <br /> <br />I didn't want to go to Chicago with you. <br />I wanted to marry you, I wanted <br />Your wife to suffer. <br /> <br />I wanted her life to be like a play <br />In which all the parts are sad parts. <br /> <br />Does a good person <br />Think this way? I deserve <br /> <br />Credit for my courage-- <br /> <br />I sat in the dark on your front porch. <br />Everything was clear to me: <br />If your wife wouldn't let you go <br />That proved she didn't love you. <br />If she loved you <br />Wouldn't she want you to be happy? <br /> <br />I think now <br />If I felt less I would be <br />A better person. I was <br />A good waitress. <br />I could carry eight drinks. <br /> <br />I used to tell you my dreams. <br />Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus-- <br />In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on <br />Is moving away. With one hand <br />She's waving; the other strokes <br />An egg carton full of babies. <br /> <br />The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.<br /><br />Louise Glück<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/siren-2/
