LOVE CON

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LOVE CON 

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Sometimes you are handed a glossy pamphlet

Offering a romantic dinner

With candlelight and roses

On a vine covered balcony 

Under the intoxicating moonlight

While swelling music drifts in on a summer breeze

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But once you have paid

In full

What you get is a prison sandwich

A thin slice of baloney

Between two slices of stale, nutritionless  bread

Served on a battered metal tray

Under a harsh bare bulb 

While people scream curses through the stale air

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Do not believe the fancy words and glamorous photos

The promises and flattery, the con

Because what you are being handed

Is a bunch of baloney, not a banquet.

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