Carl Kaucher writes

Collateral Damage

She said, "I’m not usually like this

but I think I’ll need a cab."

She was talking about her mixed drinks,

old stories of dust and running up a tab.

All the tables were full in the bar room

but everything was empty inside.

She said she was alone and far removed.

Her sad eyes looked like they had died.

The years broke hard since Seventy Seven.

She had a large stain on her soul.

I don’t think she expected miracles

just an answer for getting old.

I caught a whiff of her lost beauty

but could be she just passed gas.

I thought I should say something meaningful

but that theory did not last.

She wore an old hat and tattered coat,

her visage from another time,

and though joy and laughs surrounded her

she was like a withering poem with no rhyme.

A tear accompanied her thin smile

as I left her at the bar.

Outside a cold wind cut me

and her tear became a scar.

Dans un Café (In a Cafe) [detail] -- Edgar Degas