Old habits die hard and twisted shoulders Bend south, with her strong, leather bag.
Even now as it carries practically
Nothing.
Once upon another time,
She carried her world inside it.
Her kleptomaniac gaze glides
Slyly to the tempting shelves.
No children to feed, nothing
Alluring to smile for, she walks
Out into the icy air.
No-one searches her face to find
Life in her flinty stare.
So, she sits, ruminating; hat hunched over her Squat neck, picking at the hairs on her Tickling mole.
She shifts her weight, and automatically Tests the hard bench strength thinking of Days when she fought to make Space for the kids.
Some raindrops fall.
Damn it.
She has no umbrella. Must she dart
Under the trees or make a rush for the
Empty house?
It matters not; she may do as she pleases.
It's all the same, day in and day out.
She squints as tight shoes pinch the
Toes of her stubby, fat feet and
Impatience tosses her fleeting mood
From old to young.
This pensioner's gummy wet lips stay pursed; Remembering a handful of passionate Kisses, she sighs, "Now, where the hell are My keys?"
Pauline Courtney
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