Rosemary

Rosemary 

Quickstep walking

lips curled

in placating ways,

thundering down the street

like some deranged mechanical bull,

maniacal.

Obscure reflections 

in dirty car windows,

brief and powerful,

THIS was never Toy Land

to her.

She is in no shape for today

or tomorrow

for that matter,

never stopping to smell rosemary. 

Racing like she used to race,

backed up against

some imaginary wall,

she has no choice,

a driving ambition

to be ambitious.

Giving life a run for its money,

a real run,

not just bold talk

in a brandy soaked gin joint

downtown.

And she doesn't care

what is thought of her,

because she couldn’t think herself

any less.

Reviews

[Robin]

this is quite the poetic portrait , I have known a few like her .
another great write from your pen .

[Werthers]

Quite raw and negative (in an oh so positive way!). I enjoyed this and the power it offers.