Fame

Bandages covered her wrists
Plainly displayed below the twists
Of her sleeves. Yet she evades concern
Maintaining the standard injured air
One expects; solitary standing
In the rain, orchestra pouring
Into her ears, dreaming.

She tells me she was sick.
Obliged to react I concede
"For no reason"; there's a twinkle in
Her eye. Feigning shock I play along,
Her box of pills sodden by rain
All can see. It's always the same:
Undying need for fame.