Tony Asaro: Music

• MP3 play whole song, hi-fi (broadband)

Single mother,
Wakes the dead.
Makes him breakfast.
Makes his bed.
His smile is wide, his skin is grey.
Out of money,
Out of steam.
Small apartment.
Smaller dream.
“I must get this raise today.”

She’s reading on the train.
She’s training for her work.
Working for a man,
Manning his calendar.
She fumbles through her purse,
She purses out her lips.
Dark lipstick and a line
Of liner
In burgundy.


Gets his coffee,
Gets his grin.
She wants money;
He wants skin:
A service to increase her pay.
She’d rejected
His advance.
Seconds ticking,
Second chance–
“I must get this raise today.”

He offers her the raise.
She raises up her top.
On top of his divan
She vanishes helplessly.
She sits back at her screen.
She screens her boss’ calls
Recalling her disgrace
In grays,
And deep burgundy.



The grey of his temples.
The grey of his breath.
The grey of his ceiling.
The grey of her death.
The grey of the grape being snatched from the vine,
Staining her spirit like burgundy wine.


Broken buttons.
Broken soul.
Lost an hour.
Lost control.
Can children sense such disarray?
He is reading.
He is pure.
She is shameful
She is sure.
“Mama got the raise today.”

She looks into his face,
And faces what she’s done.
She’s done the thing she could.
How could she be criticized?
A hug for Mama’s waist
Lays waste to Mama’s doubt.
Would doubting feed her son?
And so, she makes sunshine of burgundy.


Fixed tomorrow.
Fixed his snack.
Don’t look angry,
Don’t look back.