Lady of the Night
Lady of the night,
I can't help but eye her,
Sexually evaluate her potential,
while looking her up...
and down:
Long hair, overweight, wide hips, 40's...
But nice, kind, and aware?
She's on a bike wearing sweats.
It's late.
It's night.
She stops to talk about the truck, the move.
"Moving Out?" she asks.
"Not me."
"Nice Garden, pity they'll probably get rid of it..."
Or something.
She continues, but we don't connect.
I've got a girl.
She's got a bike:
So we talk about pedals and petals.
Schizophrenic?
Depressive?
House beaten?
Abused?
Wondering...
I don't know.
How little I think of her.
How small in my mind.
Back on her bike, calling behind,
"Have a nice life."
And I reply, "Have a good night..."
More intent on whether her farewell was meant as an insult,
Than where she is going,
Where she is from,
Or why.
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