Wednesday, February 18, 2015

On the way to Oysters

a street
off Dupont,
P or Q,
she walked
uneasily toward
me, blocked my

     "I have a question for
you, young man." she said,

about 60 years old,
horn rimmed glasses
large framed and bifocal-ed,


she held her pocketbook
tightly, arms crossed
over wool knee-length

     "Just one."

knit cap sitting loose
at hairline,
rouge lipsticked mouth
partially hidden
behind homemade
scarf, she asked,

     "Is it Tuesday,"

Err, uhh, yeah, yeah,
yeah it is, I answered,

     "Oh," she smiled,
"Oh, good, that's what I thought."

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