She’s been tired so long the ache in her bones
and the soreness in her feet
feel normal; the day passes
the way they all do
and nothing changes:
not the ache in her bones,
not the pain in her feet
or the things people say
when they pass her on Main Street
during those few occasions
in course of her day
when she sits on the stoop
and smokes a cigarette –
looking at the same buildings
she’s been smoking and watching
for longer than anyone else
could stand and longer
than most of the memories
of the people who pass her by,
and certainly longer
than anybody else could stand
before dropping dead from boredom
or having the sense of adventure
to find a different stoop.
