questioning my faith

I saw her in the supermarket queue

In front of me with just a basket

Held rigidly in cold, white fists,

A well dressed lady looking sad.

Just a box of cat food and a litre bottle

Of vodka nestled underneath.

She glanced at me, over her shoulder

And I smiled, probably the only smile

She’d seen all day.

I wondered how she’d got that sad,

Why was it allowed?

I worried what awaited her at home,

I knew that she would sit and drink and cry

And I wondered who was in command

And why they’d let her feel this way.

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