The numbness moved
From arm to fingers
To hips, to linger
In parts without warn-
Each day a different ache.
Yet, I spied
Beneath her stoop
Within her ancient eyes
A glimpse of youth
Days of joy and play
Now spurned in deadness.

Courting an aged man
Attached and wealthy
A man called "Red"
Who bought her cigarettes
And paid her rent
It was how she graced her day.
I loved her then
And bade my time
Playing bartender friend
While she whittled
Onward toward end.

And in our bar
She cried aloud
Her bellowed shun
Through old refrains
Of "The House of the Rising Sun"
Yet, still, in her eyes
The ocean sang
And banked her trade
Of women in
The Port of Angels.