A tired looking lady
With eyebags
Crumpled, wrinkled clothes
That are too big for her
Disguise whatever
Little curves remain
Her eyes
Dull
Black
She is drenched
Striding inside
Without a care
Like she belongs
In her shabby, shabby clothes
With her hair
A complete mess
She is soaked through and through
The thunder roars again
Muted due to the glass and steel walls
She walks in
A tiny spark
A flash of something
In her dull, dull eyes
People gossip
About perhaps an affair
A failed marriage
A mental breakdown
For one of those reasons
Maybe all of them
Generally, she comes
In the subway
Very particular
About umbrellas too
Today, she carries none
Little Miss Particular
She walks into
The manager's office
A letter neatly typed out
Black and white
Shielded by her brown
Worn coat
Three sizes too big
She has been working
For seven years at the firm
She puts it on the table
Says a polite, 'Thank you,
But I cannot do this anymore.'
And, she is out
Onto the streets
Her eyes
Still dull
A lady with crazy hair
The rain pelts down
As she disappears
Into the fog
I hope she found
What she was looking for