Stripping puppet

Thinner than our threads that used to fit,
we make up so you can leave again,
taxi into town a burned out clown,
tumble till the neon shuts you down.

Restless hands beat rhythms on my chair,
pretending to myself that you still care.
I can only walk the worn out floor,
a dog that waits behind a nightclub door.

Taking turns to spin you on your stool,
playthings pass the parcel as you drool,
stretching alter neck goes out of shape,
grace is sipped away without a trace.

Morning milk clinks early in the street,
guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet,
clatter bangs the door with no surprise,
another night of chewed and swallowed pride.