Philadelphia’s Sewage-soaked Ring

That Fall evening, her pretty pink dress colors wet
with dark gray raindrop stains running down
to her Satin Touch tights
as she stomps down one of Philadelphia’s puddled streets
with heels pointed forward, splashing silver water
soaking all ten toes,
cold.

Movements behind her, an olive-green Buick
awkwardly pulls up beside the lonely drunk shadow,
asking, no begging, for another fake chance,
another fairy-tale lie lying beneath his charming
sorry smile.

Forgive her.
Forgive him.
Unforgettable
lovable
traitor.

Then it comes.
The sour, stormy pain of hatred, disappointment
of love, of promises lost, drowning
out the sounds of her childish, wishful hope,
longing for another nightmare,
and nothing but the truth.

Gently, too quietly, the rain slips the golden ring
off her ring finger,
and rescues her from what she should have done
long ago.

She watches the tiny golden thing
swim away into Philadelphia’s dark dank sewage water
without a fight, not a single struggle,
relentlessly gone.

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