There is a woman, Covered entirely in fur, Staring at me as I skip on by. She's been there for, 10, 20, 40 years, Watching. Watching her corner parks turn into gas stations And watching me walk. And sometimes I stop. And I stare. And it takes everything in my body not to throw a brick through the window and take her for my wall. And I wonder How on earth is she still there Beautiful Poised With nothing but dust covering her smile. Because I can't be the first person to have wanted her like that. I look. Like a lost museum patron. And then I keep walking. Because most things And all people Are meant to stay beautiful. And untouched. Unless they ask you. Or you own it.