The Fieldstone Review

Credit Card Gal

by Carol J. Forrester

Scuffed up, she is difficult to read.

Face turned toward the bulb,

legible lighting is a dying flame,

no denying the shine’s rubbed off.

Makes things difficult for herself.

Can’t take it like she used to,

her brittled smile doesn’t scan,

the swipe of his thumb showing

stretch marks threatening fractures.

All that raised beauty

worn down to the grain. 

Even his name is fading slowly,

letter by letter

to a shadow of a scratch. 

And she’s waiting for the postman,

the white flash of an envelope

not marking her surrender 

but defeat.