Dust floats over the floor
Even while he pushes
That marionetted vacuum
While he smiles in
The creepy, off centered way
Of disturbed middle aged men

You squirm to cover draping
Plunging neckline
Abrupt breeze raising
A field of tiny bumps
Across exposed
Vulnerable flesh

That voice you mother
(Sweet mother. How you loved her
As child. How far
Far she has drifted)
Called reason,
Conscience and accountability
Whispers
Why can’t he look?
The other men can
Still, you cannot be enough
They break it, they bought it
And your heart has been sold
To the lowest bidder