Cult (Poetry)

Just a man in the street with a clipboard
and questions - disarming and young -
so she answered, offhand, never dreaming
what chain of events had begun.

The booklet he pressed her to study,
she read late at night in her room -
it convinced her her lifestyle was empty
and she needed to free herself soon.

They welcomed her like a lost sister
at the meeting, gave her a new name
and promised her all she had longed for -
provided she joined in their game.

So she threw in her job at the laundry
and gave up her bedsit in Hove,
spent all of her savings on courses
and learnt that her aura was mauve.

But her life in the commune grew humdrum
so she clung to belief's tiny raft
and secretly prayed she'd be rescued
and wished herself back in the past.

Disillusion's the traitor who whispers
those doubts that she daren't say out loud,
while she stands on the street with her clipboard
and singles a face from the crowd.