Hollow pain-filled eyes stare into mine
Surrounded by wrinkles and bags
I want to look away from this face
Such suffering too private a thing to share

I keep looking back, curiosity drives me
What kind of life lived does that to another?
A rattled cough breathed out in distress
The exchange almost too much to bare.

I look at her hands and see red, work worn skin.
My own are pampered and smooth.
Fingers knotted with arthritic misery
The cold will be hard for her.

I meet her eyes once again and see
She watches me as I watch her.
What must she make of this pampered woman
Whose eyes sweep over her in questions?

Shame and sympathy sweep over me
But only for just a second.
I shake back my newly styled hair and leave.
So thankful that I am not her.