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Her
Busy corner, stabbed with commercial signs;
The flashes of the fading street lights
And the cars passing by
Seemed to her as an old movie strip,
Streamed in front of her
With its black and white
And exhausted yellow.
She was full from the coffee,
Fallowed by the dry gin- later-
As the night aged,
Accentuated with a deep,
Fulfilling smoke of her favorites.
Way passing the knees,
Her untrustworthy booths
Were used to tracing the familiar corner
For no free passes,
Heavy on her spot
She knew the deal.
The outnumbered nights
Drew intense lines on her face
Hidden under hair to last.
She didn’t remember
The last time she slept,
How ironic?
She had the disease
Of addiction to please
For the high green,
And she wouldn’t change it
For it was the only way she knew.
Deep in her imaginary movie set,
She was just another
Out of breathe cigarette…
