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Posted on November 20, 2010 at 3:50 AM

Mole’s seen her in photographs

On the internet somewhere but

It isn’t until she sits down at a


Table in the café and turns to

Look at him that it dawns on him

Who she is (but it can’t be he tells


Himself she died in an ambush in

1934 machine-gunned down by

Cops in a car with Clyde Barrow)


Yet the more she stares the clearer

Comes the image of Bonnie Parker

Right down to the eyes that ghostly


Gaze at him but then she turns away

Her head and roughly rifles through

Her bag with the black beret sitting


To the side of her hair the white coat

Wrapped about her tightly like some

Lover embracing the old fashioned black


Shoes touching at the toes then her

Fingers bring out a small pack of Camel

Cigarettes and she pulls one out and


Places it between her lips and lights it

And takes a drag then exhales making

Small smoke rings in the fusty air but


No one sees her or notes the smoke or

Hears her recite one of her poems in

A breathy voice only he sees and hears


As he sits across the café his dull eyes

Focusing his ears listening but his lips


Saying nothing as there’s no one for

Them to see or for him to show or say.

Categories: Poetry & Lyric, Terry Collett

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