barley and black suede
she never dreamed of being
black suede on the feet
of a rich man
in doormat fashion
or statements of
credit cards in
double digit interest
education in
mountains of debt
and valleys
of minimum wagers
a sure bet
regrettably
a girl should grow
like weeds in barley
to blanket the countryside
and flow on past
has been hypocrisy that
works no wonders
the leather is no stronger
than the cotton chord around her wrist
twisted with memories
of the really special boy
he smelled of hay
and said the nicest things
in clumsy words of
um and oh
not so the smooth
palm of the
banker's son who
bought and sold his
love in increments of power
so she packed her bags
for midnight rains
and raced across a
border of brilliance
that drew a mediocre wage
and a lifetime of happiness.