Sunday morning
Through a
filth-laden
plate glass
window,
I saw
her standing.
Wearing her
Sunday best.
Her thick black
hands hung down
in front of her
meaty thighs,
each grasping
on to her purse strap.
Patiently waiting
for the bus.
Shining off
of her
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Ode to Cindy
Cindy was 15
when she
decided
to run away
to Texas.
Auburn hair,
fresh-faced,
freckled complexion.
Vibrant and alive.
A raspy, sexy voice.
A trusting, sweet,
kind smile.
Cindy was a
beautiful
youthful girl,
inside and out.
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