In The Mirror
Sculptured pedestals, all in a row,
patiently await their masters
Napkins and shakers in formation
like soldiers, stoic...at parade rest
Morning crowd looks bright as they shuffle in
Cowbell is busy in the little greasy spoon
Coffee and a roll, and the days' first cigarette
She laughs at their jokes.
Sabre-like rays of light slice through fins of venetian,
capturing the wafting smoke
All of them loved her for at least twenty minutes,
five days a week
Not that much
Just a 'breakfast treat'
hired for the attention of the men
She knew cruelty.
It laughed at her smile,
At home, there was a mouth to feed
Doing what she could to see to it
*Then, that long walk home.
*Angie, single mother of a six year-old girl
Murdered on the street where she lived
...for her purse.
...just bein' Bluesy