An Age Of Difference

The first thing I notice
Are her tiny hands.
I imagine, in more genteel days,
these wrapped in lace gloves,
holding a matching fan,
waving comely glances
to frippery’d men of means
in the hope she’ll capture one.

Instead, between her fingers
is a cigarette she uses
to exclamation-point ash into the air
as she spits words
from her angry slash mouth,
while her eyes throw dares
of ‘what the fuck are you looking at?’
to anyone passing by.

She is beauty made ugly
by time and circumstance;
a penniless princess
out of sorts, luck and manners.
Instead of using her talents,
she uses her flaws as claws,
to scratch, slap and gouge
a life out of this age of indifference.