she's in her winter coat
already.
the fur.
the scarf, those leather gloves.
she's old but she ain't dead
yet. two stripes of red upon
her lips.
I see her at the bus stop going
downtown
to shop
for a new dress.
a new hat, perhaps, or just
for a cup
of tea,
to sit and reminisce
about her lovers,
most dead,
to wonder where
all the good times
went.
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