“She, Like Me”

She sat, a silent anachronism
cross-legged on the pavement
in front of some auto repair place
there must have been a waiting room
in which she might find shelter
from unseasonably cold winds
watching her apparent peace
as she flips paperback pages
seemingly oblivious to the bustle
of daily people doing daily things
dignity sacrificed, hair to the wind
repressed only when obstructing her view
I wonder where she is
what images fill her mind
and why
create a concrete library
over the quiet droning of network t.v.
cushioned seating
her reasons would be similar to my own
were I there, like her
completely different
the light turned green
I’ll never know
sometimes I think it’s better
to leave questions unanswered
dream a little more
and write the story that never happened

© M. Black, 2016 All rights reserved.


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