A woman, in coiffure
look of a 60's model,
wandered in
In a striking manner so
that attention was her cocktail
for the evening – shaken,
not stirred.
As distracting as her
motions were,
they could not mask her lost
way
her vulnerabilities were
transparent.
Though, she wore a young
demeanor,
it belied that innocence
was not much a question
for even the low lights
could not disprove that hard face.
She claimed a social gadfly
telling of travels
abroad here and there – a continental bon vivant
while wearing her small
town charms
her cleavage clearly over
matched
this place where the commuter
train still remains exotic fare
away from plain, simple
and common
the triple entrance to
the local cemetery.
She wore glasses that
seem staged
to find intelligence in
the eye
using the mannerism of an
orchestra conductor
elaborately weaving her
song
speaking without pause
so to command her place
using mimicked literal phrasing
and inflected tones.
Her intentions are
oblique – theatrical
not entirely clear sitting
in a nearly empty bar
waiting the eleventh hour
of the night.
Her appearance and dress
alluring
however, proper enough for
a teacher (she suggests)
perhaps, a vicarious
play; a tease
for an evening's match.
Midnight calls anew for
the lost
the adventure seekers;
the agents of the dark
muse ...
while the day closes for
the saner elements
that must greet the next
dawn.
Such it is when the early
last call comes
as the moon’s arc seeks time
in apex
and the pentagram flips
to the inverted position
She explains an old past
where an intriguing story
of a stalker
enters her thoughts ...
an obsessive admirer who
sought elation
from his teacher of
fealty .
Then with a guilty
glance back she states,
“I was once
who I was once
until all evidence
betrayed me...
by proving - it really does not matter
when there is a 7th
change
gluttony is the last sin.
Tomorrow will follow - wrath.”
