After ordering the stone, <br />gold letters on granite, <br />she would sit by the window <br />and watch the sun roll <br />along the fields of <br />golden canola and <br />newly cut hay. <br /> <br />The fragrance of <br />lush pastures <br />and those hopeful <br />shades of green, <br />forever changing, <br />never satisfied <br />and unaware of their <br />superiority <br />to the Big Smoke. <br /> <br />She would never, <br />even under different circumstances, <br />return to the streetlights. <br /> <br />She wondered <br />how long she had, <br />weeks or only days, <br />to admire this <br />almost terrifying beauty. <br />And would she <br />see another rain shower, <br />and breathe, afterward <br />the freshly laundered air <br />and the cold steam <br />rising off the foothills. <br /> <br />They had hinted at about six. <br />Weeks to put to good use. <br />And the young intern had, <br />to her great embarrassment, <br />handed her <br />a megapack <br />of highest potency <br />and expensive looking <br />food supplements. <br />As if it mattered <br />in what condition she would <br />meet HIM, <br />her maker, <br />who didn't think enough of her <br />to let her stick around <br />past the age of forty-two. <br /> <br />She reached <br />for another Camel, <br />no filter, <br />lit it with her <br />gold-plated Zippo, <br />and poured a big slug <br />of Jack. <br />No ice. <br /> <br />'Jack would like it here', <br />she said. <br />Mud in your eyes. <br />No room for tears.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-room-for-tears/
