Tuesday, January 13, 2015


Portly woman, baggy clothes,
Shaven head and covered nose,
Covered by a light blue scarf
Tied behind her shaven head.
Walking, smoking. Looks of dread
Fill the faces of the few
Daring, daring not to glance,
Glancing nonetheless, a dance.
Wishing, wanting, desperate
It is cancer? Of the lip?
Of the nose? Or of the hip?
(Oh, but you do not fool me!)
Worry, wonder fill the eyes.
Bound feet, sandals, baggy thighs.
Cancer, that is what it must
Be, poor woman, look at her.
Look, yes, look, yes, look at her.

Yes, she says, yes, look at me!

Acting like I'm reading now
Sitting in the coffee shop.
Here she comes (I knew she'd stop),
Scarf around her shoulders now,
Nothing wrong (Just as I knew).

Look at me! she cries inside.

Now you've seen a soul that's died. 

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