A joyful widow,
swaying black muslin and
spry knobby-shoed feet.
Unfurled glory now tied back
in a severe bun.
Attentively appointed silver rings,
curl through soft winglet ear lobes,
around poised fingers.
All betrayed by smirking green eyes.

She inhaled
a chimney of graham crackers,
Aiming the empty cardboard
box bazooka,
peering through the
open-flapped ends,
her eyebrow arches, bemused.
A diminutive fist of a belly,
Opening for an avalanche of crumbs.
Manna.

No need for the troughs of
breakfast, lunch, dinner,
hurdles to hurtle over.
Oblivious, she flutters
      and leaps
           Springbok jeté.

Swivelling pensively,
eyes turned inward, churning.
For a moment
she retreats from the facade.
Then,
Exhales
So much noxious
blue-grey cigarette smoke,
held in too long,
Spewing it, putteringly
over a sardonic lip.