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Siren

 I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.
I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted Your wife to suffer.
I wanted her life to be like a play In which all the parts are sad parts.
Does a good person Think this way? I deserve Credit for my courage-- I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me: If your wife wouldn't let you go That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you Wouldn't she want you to be happy? I think now If I felt less I would be A better person.
I was A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.
I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus-- In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on Is moving away.
With one hand She's waving; the other strokes An egg carton full of babies.
The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.

by Louise Gluck
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