Dream #2

New York

She’s living in a dingy little apartment
     with a dusty old couch, a sagging bed;
rats scurry through the old floorboards;
     crumbs are all over the kitchen table.
Yet my Mother seems happy in this place,
     she’s humming as she zips up her dress,
fluffs her hair, spritzes on perfume.
     Tonight she’s going out to hear a concert
with a sleazy man with slicked-back hair.
     He’s at the door now, already bragging,
claiming to know the star violinist.
     My mother’s nodding, smiling agreeably;
she practically floats out the door with him.
     I follow the two of them into the darkness;
I watch them holding hands, chatting away,
...