(whose name I fail to remember) Remember her eyes – they are pumas piercing a tangled mess pouncing, dumb boys sidle up to her. She ignores them as long as she can but her job requires a smile a kind touch on the arm or shoulder she passes holding drinks aloft to pacify children who never will man her. But somewhere – I need to believe – after the last superficial to-do has ended after tabs and tips are counted, somewhere she stands before a mirror – proud lioness that she is – slowly strokes her dark locks, her blackness, her white eyes burning holes through glass which could never hold her.
Ken Hada’s recent poetry collections include Western Heritage Award recipient Spare Parts, The River White: A Confluence of Brush & Quill, and a cd, Like Father, Like Son: A Narrative in Poetry & Guitar. He contributes regularly to “All Roads Will Lead You Home” – a poetry blog available at http://vacpoetry.org/three/. For more information see kenhada.org