New Poetry


One More Question

She had been beautiful once
and we sat at the bar
drinking bloody mary's on a listless
august afternoon

her movements lacked the grace
they once possessed
and something was missing
from her smile
she wore her 26 years
like a coat she had since grown
tired of

she had green eyes
honest laughter
and a firm belief
in nothing much at all

I understood her more than I understood
most people

she exhaled long and slow
and we both watched the smoke
snake about the air in front of us

and she turned to me and said, god, Bill,
what am I going to do with
myself?

It's was 3 o'clock on a monday afternoon
and here was one more question
I didn't have an answer for.


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