288. Pretty in Pink.

she lives in the local Spar

 – well, she’s always in there

whenever I go by,

or on the bench by the lights

drawing on a Woodbine

whatever the weather

berating the captive audience

feet away, praying for green:


my sinking heart portends

a voice of gravel & screeching metal

before my conscious mind registers


lipstick smeared

without the aid of a mirror,

mascara too.


Are you my friend ?

she sweetly asks some poor unfortunate

with the menace of a meat grinder


Sure, Doris

 – you know I am

     you know I am.