She writes third place poetry,
As neighbors come and go.
She loves the smell of cheap perfume
And five and dime for show.
She's touched the four directions,
White hair sneaking cross her head.
She rests in meditation
Tapestry of life she's spread.
You might wander past her window
When the spring is melting through
And hear her singing silly songs
About the morning dew.
While she writes third place poetry
And loves the smell of dirt.
Five and dime bought jewelry
Is all it takes for her.
She may dress in jeans and cotton.
She just might dye her hair.
But she dreams upon the summer night
With wings of rainbow stare.
She's had her share of diamonds.
She wouldn't wear a fur.
The fine upstanding public
Might not think twice of her.
She's traveled up the spiral
Of the great pretenders path
And she's found autumn in her falling
Past the traps of real regret.
So she writes third place poetry.
She wouldn't blink an eye.
At the loss of her last bauble,
She won't lay down and die.
Cause she loves third place poetry
And the smell of cheap perfume.
People are her passion.
In her heart there's always room.