She opened the windows to see the morning light flow in

She thought of another day to spend alone.

The door's slammed, silence sets in.

The day unfolds. Monday, Tuesday, or is it Thursday?

Behind the bars at the windows, noon and midnight seem almost alike

--an even grey

when it rains, when the sun shines.

Raindrops slide down the panes, indifferent,

Sunbeams glide past ignoringly.

Longing for freedom bumps relentlessly against the walls of the living-room.

Like a bottled insect.

He forgot to leave her the keys.

She switches on the TV, brain-killing blah-blah,

buzzing waves of non-thinking,

Comforting, with its self-righteous common-sensical statements.

And the good girls are ugly

And the good housewife is fat and devoted.

Underneath lurks bitterness.

Twenty years stabbed on the altar of marriage

Twenty years burned out at the convenience of an unthankful husband.

Twenty years sucked dead out of their youth and energy.

Washed down the sink with dish water and washing powder.

Cooked dry into pots and pans.

None of them's touched any dream.

None of them's been beautiful.

They've realized it with the first autumn leaves in their hair,

the first silver snows smothering their juvenile complexion.

They want others to follow the straight path:

If they didn't have much why should another bitch have more?

The girl's sad and scared, alone on the screen.

The audience is the judge, cameras are the court. TV's the haunted mirror.

She switches it off. Silence sets in.

She wants to run and hide from the harpies pointing their finger at her.

"This is what you're turning into!"

... They sound like a curse.

Nononononoooo, this is not right.

She is aware, she'll know better.

She sees the gap, she'll jump across.

Not like them.

But she keeps on waiting,

seated at the barred window.

Now he's back home.

Takes off his shoes, tie and suit.

Sits back on the couch, drinks up a beer.

He's back; she doesn't need to wait anymore.

He's content with the answer, so is she.

She doesn't need to wait anymore.

At night, she dreams of her dreams,

Restless visions galloping under restless eyelids

They sneer at her, rushing past her in a flash.

They surround her in a furious race, pitiless.

--Until the clock rings the end,

and they fade into the morning coffee.