Anna Louise

Anna Louise is wearing

An worn out gray flannel shirt

The one-time colorful pattern

Now hidden beneath layers of dirt

Her pants are several sizes too big

With holes worn through in both knees

But clothing and general appearance

Are not the concerns of Anna Louise

This ghost from the streets is a regular

This bar is her second home

She sticks closer to that worn out stool

Than her beer sticks to its foam

She always sits on that same old stool

The one down at the end in the gloom

No one approaches her solitary space

It’s as though she has her own room

She never seems to talk much

Guess she doesn’t have much to say

She just sort of mumbles

to her half empty glass

that never replies aye or nay

She appears to be lost

in her very own world

Some say she’s waiting

for the reaper’s black steed

Some say she’s grieving

over love gained and lost

Now the bar and the beer

Seems all that she needs

Perhaps Anna Louise

Is all of us

With our hopes and our fears

resting on her stooped back

In her we see

What we most fear to face

A silent sitting mirror

of all that we lack