Recent Widow

Pursed lips, /she appears as a lantern next to the window, /through a cloth barrier,/behind a distant wall./ There’s wailing again,in the atmosphere/,she tumbles from a maroon chair,/like the coils of a lariat unwind./Legs bent one under another,/the day I left Chicago. /She picks up the phone,/dials and curses,slams it down./I gave her a glass of gin from the back./She drank it down.

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