Met a bag lady walking
and then tipped my hat to say
a slight wish of good morning
softly spoken
She smiled and she waved
as she shuffled along while
picking up Kants and rappers
silently there
Her coat was worn and tattered
no shoes to complete the show
no masterpiece painting so
aptly given
Her notes in the cart were
top shelf and opened widely
red borne letters warmed her soul
quickly read
She parted me then singing
a favorite gospel song
her perfection of art
Godly offered
Met a lady with no bags
and then tipped my hat to say
an offer of a greeting
boldly spoken
Her gait was fast on the morn
bags so purchased on that day
pocketbook budging contents
hustle gains
She frowned and she dodged
as she hurried along
stepping on cans and wrappers
awaiting there
Met a bag lady walking
About the Creator
Dub Wright
Curmudgeon; overeducated; hack writer; too much time in places not fit for habitation.
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Mike Smith Is Dead—Pt. 5
The newspaper notice appeared in the paper on Thursday, the funeral would be Monday. That became significant because Friday morning two black sedans arrived at the Holiday Inn. Kip’s room faced west toward the highway and he had been gazing into the hazy morning. Four men got out who definitely were not salesmen. Kip could tell when one bent over to tie his shoe he was carrying a weapon.
By Dub Wright6 years ago in Serve
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