I chanced on her
In line at Giant Tiger,
A familiar haunt.
Her pose reminded me
Of a girl with
The bearing of old money,
And steady Oxford brogues
That walked home from the Village
Speaking ****** thoughts
With little thnking.
She removed her wallet to pay
With hands that once
Tied ribbons and wrote love letters,
Cooked and loved her family,
Enjoyed stability.
The line moved
And she dropped her card.
Such strange, familiar manners
When she stooped.
The waterfall hair line
Showed sun-worship thinning.

The transaction completed,
She turned to exit,
Without glancing back,
This all too
Familiar stranger.