There were three of us girls over at Mrs. Jackson's house
Our conversation revolved around her passionate spouse
The others thought that maybe she could've done better
While she seemed mainly concerned with the glum weather
I studied her profile as she stood by the window though
Body and mind no longer functioning as a quid pro quo
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Mrs. Jackson had never exactly been friendly towards me
It would've given me pleasure to know she had been poorly
I knew she couldn't be happy, I knew she must be worried
Her husband saw me twice a week.. always in a fucking hurry
Had she found the lipsticked collars? The smell of perfume?
The scratches on his back? Or noticed my swelling womb?
She couldn't have missed it...I wanted to see her whimper
Or break down and cry so we could gossip through December
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.
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What was that? I saw a faint purple bruise on her arm
With a bit of luck if I mentioned it, she would lose her calm
The house was tidy but I could picture the bitter quarrels
Happening regularly, leaving her brow with little furrows
I knew she was quite miserable, maybe even grown suicidal
As her whole life fell apart just like her home's blue vinyl
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.
.
But she seemed determined that no one else should find out
Pain clearly present in her eyes, she was sad beyond doubt
She turned away from the blinds with such elegance and style
Blinded by that row of bleached teeth, hiding behind her smile