Riddance

She smoulders
Black spoors
Lead out to a garden grown
Of plants, coarse vines
And nettles fringing her sides

Among wilting weeds
She finds breeze
Forgiving the marks she made.
Whilst she tears at blades
Contorted by her feet

And a man stands by
Stroking her hair
She’s spitting spite in his ears
Much the man can’t hear
“I need you now” she says
And he follows her down
Laying on the green plain