She buys the magazine at the checkout counter,
the one with the story on that hot actor
she fantasizes about at night
when she is in bed with her husband.
She reads the lies about these strangers cover to cover
as she eats an entire quart of overpriced ice cream.
She could share the magazine with her neighbor
Cindy, but let her buy her own.
Cindy's husband makes more money
and the bitch doesn't even have to work.
She's probably out getting a manicure.
She hates Cindy and her skinny jeans too.
Maybe Cindy's husband will lose his job
in this crappy economy and then all they
will have is their volunteer work at the mission
in the disgusting, rundown area of the city.
She's sick of thinking about Cindy
so she goes up to the bedroom to lull
herself to sleep thinking about the actor.
She'll have a snack when she gets up.
When she awakens an hour later
she looks in the mirror and begins to cry
at the bags under her eyes, the way her makeup
doesn't hide the scar, the frizziness of her hair.
It's a beautiful summer day,
but she doesn't look out the window.
The church bells are ringing,
but she doesn't hear them.