A Picture

Engulfed in darkness she stands
beside a lone street light.
Tight denim, a farmer's dream.
A blue jean jacket as
her only refuge.

Fingers encircle the metal -
cold, wet. . . mirroring her.
Weighed down with nature's fury,
both classic, new vintage,
an oxymoron.

One remains straight and steady
unhurried by pressure.
Shoulders slump from skies which weep
torrential drops upon them;
though spirits won't yield.

Hair weighs heavy with water,
straight, matted on her cheeks.
Streams of make-up, interim
scars traverse pale skin, but
her beauty remains.

Leaning on ebony pole,
the metal traces her spine.
Intense eyes stare boldly at
her spotlight companion;
lost friend found once more.

Stern and focused, the figure
steals from man-made fixture -
strength to battle life's misdeeds,
Fore in the midst of midnight,
their beacon shines brightest.


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