Celebrity
The woman in the purple sweater
Is her own personal celebrity,
Waving up at me like Iım her paparazzi,
Smoking on the firescape.
I flick a flash of ash into her path—
Poor manıs ticker tape—but she doesn’t notice
She’s still keeping time in her one man parade.
Holding the street together with her shoulders,
A parked car motorcade escorts her to the corner.
I stifle my cigarette on the metal structure
Holding me high above the street
As she fades from view.
7:00 a.m. The day’s festivities already over
Leaving much work to be done.
© 2004 Eileen Kowalski.