The Girl in the Window Chair

She knew she’d had a close escape
When she heard his voice on tape
That the man who wrote those words
Could never comfort her
And she thought
Of all the things that would go wrong
If they’d carried on
And what a fool she’d been to think that they belonged
When she heard those songs
Those dolorous songs
Those heart-scorned, prim, self-pitying, dolorous songs
She sat down at a window chair
She brushed and pony-tailed her hair
And thought about his changing moods
All that anger and such victim-hood
And she imagined
The hour he knew that love was gone
That bitter dawn
When he reached for a pen and turned his bed-light on
And wrote those songs
Those dolorous songs
Those heart-scorned, prim, self-pitying, dolorous songs
Those songs
Those dolorous songs
Those heart-scorned, prim, self-pitying, dolorous songs
Those songs… those songs
Those songs… those songs