Scissors

A figure by the traffic lights,

Face washed out in the rain,

She's here once more to make her nightly

Stand for love and pain.

Her story written on her face

Reading between the lines;

Still private in this public place

She's carefully designed

Her open secret.

Reliant on their charity

To feed and clothe her kids

She holds a card out to the drivers,

Behind it safely hidden

Her little sceret,

For their eyes alone.

And she only needs a moment of weakness,

Window wound down just a crack,

And she'll explode with all that pent-up stuff inside her

And attack

With her scissors,

Secret scissors,

Sharpened scissors.