She liked to think that she was more refined

Than she once was

Less trusting but more kind

Not a lost cause

Maybe she was right

Maybe she knew herself

Or perhaps not

 

It’s not a lie, really, truly

Her brain has just become a bit…unruly

She’s lost track of some things

Unimportant things, just bites and stings

Unimportant

Until the police come with a warrant

and she can’t quite recall why

Until a man in a suit is asking why they had to die

 

It’s taxing!

Oh, the sweat under threat

Under heat for a crime she had

Not

Committed

‘Twas another

A sister or brother, lost among the mess that she’d replaced

 

She liked to think she was more refined

Standing in line to get her meal

She liked to think she was getting neater

Curled against the rattling heater

Gripped by the chill of the fever preceding death.