Thursday, April 07, 2005


She wore a shroud of rumor
With a fimbriation of glances.

It was a small town,
But I am sure
That she would have been
A stranger, anywhere.

I was not her friend,
I would not be her friend —
I couldn’t have been
Even if I tried.

Her standards were
Inhumanly high.

It was a small town;
She made us feel small,
But she would have
Diminished anyone.

She was unloved
And more than a little loathed,
But even the children
Would not mock her.

We wouldn’t mock her,
Even when she wasn’t there.

It was a small town
And above us, she loomed,
As she would over
Towers and clouds.

She walked away, one day:
This menace, our marvel.

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