Dike

I sit across from her,
I recognize her but I don't think I know her.
She smiles and laughs, it is funny
I guess. The child inside fights with
the woman who cries. No tears
will she show; too proud of her coat.
Judgments are harsh 
looking down from her perch,
ready to fight if I cross her mascara line,
so I don't.
I hide the pain of our loss
and the words and graffiti she sprays.
I told her the truth
and she cooed her regrets,
retreating inside her gold-gilded cage.
"You shouldn't do that and
blah-ditty blah. I love you
you see and must say what I feel,
I'm right and you're not
you'll see that it's best."
"I'm tired", I say and stand up to leave.
"Of course", she replies, from under her wing.
I close the door away
from the glare and the smiles and the smell.