Places

Sophie stands in the room
Alone among the crowd
Her love gone these thirty long
And the rust of days sing loud
On her chair aside, her favorite book
Pirates, penance, loves and dares
Heroes missed, her make-up runs
She bows to all the stares
In Cohens coat she walks in rain
Torn, tattered, of aged blue
To midnights diner and stuttered neon
Her stool her churchs pew
A portrait paints, in her coffee cup
A woman of timely chance
Of tired eyes, and dog eared books
And memories last dance.
She pays her bill, and does not speak
Makes her way to the walk,
Its two a.m. on oiled streets
When the garbage cats do talk
In her bed she covers and looks above
To the fan that spins her time
And squeaks of rented mattress springs
Of lovers and gypsy dimes.
Rise and light a cigarette 
Pour herself some wine
Carves her initials into the stand

And sips second from her vine

On third she dances in her room

To music down her hall

On windows ledge she toasts her street,

In remembrance of her fall.