A couple of weeks ago I took myself on a listening date and wrote a street poem with all the found things I listened to. I decided to return to this striking woman I listened to in the thrift store that day.
Hippified you are into your seventies,
taller than most, wiry and wizened,
gray hair half loosely pinned up,
half fallen around your shoulders,
your trusty fuzz-nugget beside you.
You were thrift shopping with the rest of us,
but you stood out a head above others–
both figuratively and literally–
living out loud with passion, pleasure, purpose.
You sincered us with your kindness and joy,
and we were captivated, even entertained–
Just a bit of what you said that day:
Yeah, they’re kind of hard to find.
They go fast.
Where are my gla…
Ok, I do have my glasses.
Yo, dog, let’s go.
I have something for you
You’re welcome, you’re so welcome.
It came from my heart.
I don’t know if you like it,
but I like it.
Is that in your way?
Your rarity is a treasure,
not at all in my way.