Love To Burn
Her handbag bulges with broken dreams
and discarded promises.
A tightly shut purse contains
her unspent love.

Some days she is tearful
and tragically wasted.
There is nothing left
she hasn't tasted
on her manically magical samba,
salsa parade.
Old lovers line the way,
like tombstones,
whispering in the shade.

Clickety, clicking,
in new heels and hairdo,
she is confidently swinging
the bar door open.

Even at her age a few heads turn.

Sitting on a barstool, oiled by a sip of rum,
she gradually unzips her favourite purse.
She has love
to burn.

David Glacken