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

Words that sear
Lost in that
Endless haze
Of smoke,
Drifting towards
The skies
In that illumination
Burnt into our eyes
By the rays of a sun
That has long since
Disappeared
Beneath the horizon

Cigarette held loosely
But firmly
Between your fingers
You take a drag
I cannot help
But laugh
Cheered by the scene
You, content
And feeling cool and cynical
With each drag
Inflating with the feeling
That you're older- an adult
I laugh again
As you continue
To treat me like a child