Carina was never that kind of gal,
never to weep large and
never do in public.
So it took everybody aback
when flabby tears fell everywhere
over that queer situation.

In the first place,
Carina had never had it good.
She had never made money.
She had never had wealth.
She had never seen new hairstyle
or mirror her lipstick colours.

She had never before
had a chance to live
like a slick-magazine mannequin,
with time to play tennis,
ride and have cool butter sandwiches
but then she felt it once.

There was a swimming pool,
near the place she once lived,
ten steps away from
the apartment door.
A borrowed sofa in a led life,
two random contacts and a grief.

Of course, a private pool,
which was fine with Carina,
cause most of the people she knew
didn’t even have the chance to see a pool.
She could sit in the common outing and watch
people drink their martinis and milk.

Naturally, she could not rate all this,
nor be part, just put up as long it lasted.
Like the old man used to say,
life is full of seconds,
rarely some of them happy.
There is no happiness for us poor.

Carina lived a life sore and she
would have gone earlier to sleep
but this dream was a swimming pool alive
and kept her for day and the next
and the next till the day Carina slept for good,
herself swimming in a pool of blood.