With long nights, thick clouds, and everyone
wearing black to look thin,
now my commute in the rain
is stopped at a crosswalk. Still.
Stopped for a tiny black pencil
of a woman pushing her cart of belongings
(its plastic bag black, too) slowly so slowly
but with such dignity that I will
her safely across four lanes and marvel
at the march of her high heels, her straight back,
her nodding black top hat, tall
as a magician’s and adorned like a queen’s
by a frill of tulle, rain beads, tinsel
and one full-blown daffodil.
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