57th Thought

29 Feb

A Wild Woman

A poem by Ivona Sophia

She’s glancing at the reflection

in the mirror,at the same place

(from the beginning of time and paint) ,

holding her images even when she’s not

there.Merging with an old, fat sofa

on three legs and an artificial one made

of a few criminals and one dictionary

growing thicker with dust and thicker skin

from fresh remorse.While putting on

a new pair of nylons,she’s inhaling

another chapter of a soap opera life.

Armed with blood-red lipstick and a twenty

dollar bill,she is out for bingo.

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