Snapshot
A woman of thirty,
maybe mid-thirties,
chubby, pale, brown-haired,
got on the bus in Arlington
on the coldest day in March
wearing crocs out of which
her heels, without socks,
spoke, in red language,
of tiredness and pain.
A wayward fringe of hair,
lately pestered by icy wind,
teased her right eyebrow.
Why didn’t she wear a hat?
She eased herself slowly
(weighed down both with care
and a cumbrous winter coat)
into a seat toward the back.
It was palpable, her relief.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
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Written on 2022-12-20 at 08:26
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D G Moody |
Griffonner |
Lawrence Beck |
Texts |
by Uncle Meridian Latest texts[naming the need][crossing] [older] [1990] [guidance] |
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