Rich Man

by Jessica Widowski

At the end of the rose-lined path,

odors mix

and you open the glass doors to a castle.

It's not a real castle.

There's no moat,

no sky-bound towers with pennants,

not even a jungle gym.

It's just your weekend,

and you've taken me out to lunch.

You order, and then disorder

(too expensive),

and then you order again.

This time: two salty burgers

and a share of golden fries.

But no milkshakes.

Milkshakes are out of the question.

You have just enough for soda-pop.

The stone-faced cashier hands you a shape.

You bend the paper crown around my head,

"Princess for a day!"

At the table you tell me your plans

(dreams really)

for our weekend.

You can't afford what you promise.

You wish for gold, or to just win the lottery.

But you don't need to, because

I'm right in front of you.

You can see that, can't you?

No.

You are just too foolish,

which is why you're divorced now.

Though, you mean well.