Some swear she waltzed passed swiftly,

in a charocal grey Donna Karan dress

her black Prada bag swinging daintily

on her lower right arm; humming a song



Some say that her midnight black Fendi sandals

have sordid secrets behind each criss cross

each step leaving clues along the sidewalk

and under the eyelids of the rising sun/


Rooms fall in silence from undescribed surprise

enchanting whispers seeking to know

why her head is held so high; Hmmph!

way up there...like she pretty special or something/

 

No knowledge whatsoever of her insides

but they talk a hole into the atmosphere

not pleased until her tears they seem to hear

while fingers scratch their empty heads;

because she never lost her smile



Too shallow to envision beyond the glamour

with hard hate clogging their minds

not even a reason given; reaching out

and get harked on; because there is green

in their brown eyes/



Not a hybrid combo from birth

its like the guts of flies

Invidious people do not discriminate

they hate for the hell of it

all the time/



and the only thing she ever offered

was her love...