The woman in question
for Cathy
1995
“So, who is she, anyway?”
the fellow from the assessor’s office
asks the barista steaming skim milk
for his dry skinny decaf au lait to go
as the screen door flutters shut
behind the woman in question.
“I don’t know her name,”
the barista replies discreetly,
“but she’s a wonderful customer.”
Might have been a waitress once,
she thinks but doesn’t say.
“Medium regular here.”
The guy from corrections hands her
his sludgy bulgy pitted plastic mug.
“Well, we saw her walking the other day,
staring at the sky and smiling,
and you know what was up there?
Nothing but clouds.”
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