Poem Number 23293

An apron
tied with ribbon, pocket filled with scissors and pins,
pincushion next to the coffeepot,
a folded shirt ready for mending lays near by
any time now.. something is going to happen
the dog with whimper in her sleep,
tugs at the apron string, she remembers.
She used to wear rollerskates, pigtails, no helmet
although the sidewalk was wild with cracks.
She used to take chances, give kisses and love notes
Then this world took its turn and all her choices failed
Now by wounds shote with dangerous lies
Death peception views her, often grief.