Empty Fridays

She closes it quietly and stumbles to bed
Not enough time for the clothes to shed
Steps on the cat and tears her hose
Wafting smoke invades her nose

Curled up in a blanket, playing the role
The years go by, taking their toll
Suppose to be different, her mother complains
Another Tanqueray to ease the pains

Carousel of Princes, promise her more
Gets caught up, the borderline whore
Feeling special while the lights are low
Bullshit from heaven, the lying beau

Week after week, she believes the game
Hoping and praying for someone to claim
Back in her room, she starts to weep
Until she falls into a restless sleep

As a young girl she played it all out
The loving wife, without a doubt
Dressed up her Barbie’s and created the theme
Middle class America, the perfect dream

Many years later, they call her by name
Has her own stool, no one to blame
Cigarette breath and slow gin tears
Empty speeches are all she hears