Hooker Playing House

(Sonnet for Indian Lake) I met a young girl on Saint Patrick’s Day. She was looking for something important To fill in the void she was dealing with. She was pleased when I offered my content. I rented a house on a scenic lake, And worked very hard to give her a home. It didn’t take long till the tide came in And my credit cards drowned in the foam. What I took as love was a two-faced con. She had a road map to a better life. But her route didn’t count on remaining A loyal and strong, "We’ll deal with it," wife. I took her on as my duly wedded spouse. She turned out to be a hooker playing house. THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR GOLD DIGGERS WHO GIVE GOOD ILLUSIONS [I was damaged property. That part’s on me.]