With
one glove off and one glove on she sips
a
coffee under indeterminate glare
of
silence, and with downturned red-slashed lips
she
tastes the savour of the empty air.
No
saviours here ‒
all we can do is stare
and
spend our nickels though the lonely night ‒
no
mumbled platitudes can ease her cares,
no
cheap fast-food will set the world to rights.
But
morning brings a clarity of light,
an
emptied purse, a single coin ‒
she flips
her
future into flux, way out of sight
of
tired minds and paint-by-numbers scripts:
with
one glove off she disavows all art,
with
one glove on she seeks a hidden heart.
RJT
Automat - Edward Hopper
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