There, a car without wheels,
threads tied, eyes wide,
daughter learns to drive the car,
scuffed streets, gloomy brakes,
the mechanic now owns the motor
as ad hoc wife pays him
and holds her nose high in pride
for being his trophy wife
the last night.
The Monalisa hangs,
family photographs fall,
doorbell rings *don't open*
waits the stack of coins in blues,
grabbing them all
he invites them again,
throwing memento notes away.
I see the lavishness again
stepping out of the kitchen,
a salver decorated with almonds,
lemons and lemonades, but ouch!
the chilled glass hurts me
and I spy at her husband
collecting shattered pieces of the glass
and keeping them up on the pedestal.
A chest irrigating hate
is found in diamond mines,
where he is busy amassing
glitters out of the mud,
while his 'once a friend' smiles
and continues picking up
each bread, carefully,
while the rich man's son slurps ramen.
Children playing peek-a-boo
with skyscrapers, closing eyes,
for a real world that exists
under those golden lashes
and the silver bracelet,
that keeps the couple corralled
for the Bachata with ceased moves.