I've seen her coming out of the Mens,
unabashed and prosaic
shrugging one shoulder, vitreous white
and careless with freckles

Boredom excites her; she hungers for nothingness,
savours it slowly, like stale wine
half-warm

Urgent and bare
as a fortress of fashion
she wears brash young men, interchangeably—
like earrings

I've seen her through cruel bus windows:
a blue silhouette on silver reflections,
her hair a poised spider
rigid as snow

Her eyes are savage with brooding,
her mouth stained with courage—
or lipstick—half-gone.
Her frailness, oppressive as glass,

is too stark to be wrong.

© 1986, Carin Perron