Broad in the beam.
Round face, puffy cheeks.
Kid on the corner mouthing names.
None of the men on the street
Turn and take a look.
Her dress pulls too tightly
Round her midriff.
She gets in the cab,
Alone, unappreciated,
Undaunted.
She's a lady
In the biggest way.
Smells
I can still smell him.
It's been two years.
But I can still smell him
Every now and then.
He never wore cologne,
Never smelled like soap.
But he was very clean,
Extremely clean.
His odor was unique.
I had to give it up when
He gave me up.
I still smell him.
I didn't love him,
But his smell was comfortable.
If I Had My Druthers. . .
John Denver sings "Druthers".
The room is a little chilly.
The rose in the vase is dying.
The cat's curled up in the bean bag.
Dirty tea cups fill the sink,
A stack of manuscripts sit on the floor,
Library books cover the sofa.
I sit tapping my foot,
Typing to the music.
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