She had the most beautiful hair
a distinctive mark of unassisted perfection
blonde meets prairie wheat gold
an exquisite tiara atop
a dowdy scowling Queen Victoria.
Nicotine rasped features
barbed wire tongue
and quick sand humour completed the disillusion.
I was at the outer edge of youth
still not completely shaped
still a little unworldly
a hand that couldn’t quite reach to
someone thwarting obvious classification.
A neighbourhood cat crossing neutral territory
uncertain whether to exhibit trust – or suspicion.
One morning as Christmas looms
an unexpected fruit tart
thoughts locked in the traffic jam of the season
fail to recognize the bypass through gridlock
and decline with crushing indifference
her generosity of spirit a hand slapped away.
A mistake not realized until too late
never given the opportunity for redemption.
For the back story click Backstage
If you like a piece of writing (or the site) please share