Her skirt kicks, kicks,
The love of her life in tow.
Her hair falls like fronds
Beating her face,
Sweeping her eyes.
Work awaits, a faithful lover
She just can't shake,
Waiting patiently while she struggles -
AMs are a bitch.
The park on her right
Turns sadder with each season
As if spring can't wash away
Decades of soot, oil and salt.
She'd hide in the park in high school,
Glad for the anonymous freedom
Found in dusks, found in ink.
Her skirt kicks, wraps around her leg
Covers her boot and trips her -
I believe she cuts her palms,
Leaving some skin on the sidewalk.
Her hair, I think, matches mine -
The color lifts a girl from anonymity.
She hastens her walk, passing the park.
Eyes silent, I follow -
Dawdling.