Waiting for the Light to Change
The first thing I notice is her platinum blonde hair
flattening against her brush
Stroke after stroke after stroke.
Thickly smudged kohl
at once defines and defiles her tired eyes
that have seen more heartache than I know.
She takes a long drag on her cigarette
and exhales the failures of her day away
in a stream of smoke that lingers only slightly.
What story would she tell
were she to have the opportunity,
were she to have an audience?
The light turns green and I lurch forward
leaving behind an unanswered question
at one moment so important
only to vanish as I navigate my way home.
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5 comments:
Oooh, I love this.
she was smoking AND brushing? did she drive a stick? that's pretty impressive. I would burn my hair. Sure it's fake, but I'm pretty attached to it nevertheless.
Surely you aren't mocking my hard-livin' lady. She put the brush down! We were at a stoplight!
You are just messing with me because I know you don't like everything spelled out. I know it!
nah, i'm just messing with you in general. i like the poems. :-)
AHEM
What happened to the rule you were placing on us about posting once a week?
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