The bill she couldn’t pay was the final straw.
Left her wandering into the dead of the night,
for shelter, light and warmth.
The blanket she carries, useless when wet
so she sleeps in the doorway when it rains –
curled up at the door and trying to ignore,
her hurt, anger and debt.
Human interaction only consists of
“Can you spare any?” she’d have said.
People shake their heads with their pockets,
jangling each time they take a step.
Until, a man with a false kind face smiles,
and speaks ‘heroically’, advising her to
“Come with me, I’ll make it worthwhile.”
Desperate Isabelle, follows his steps.
‘Walking to work’ revealing her chest.
“The first client will wait on that corner;”
“Then I’ll take you somewhere warmer.”
Or so, he promised, because, after,
she was left with permanent goose-bumps.
Like tattoos sucking the warmth out of her,
leaving her to shiver alone forevermore.
With no choice, she’s living a sickening cold.
So she doesn’t die at Isabelle’s door.