that old lady

her marbled legs blended well
with the faded ink upon her arms

the cigarette wobbled all the while
she often cackled about her youth

but her eyes betrayed her humor
for sincere regrets and shattered hope

she often slurred too much
to talk about abandoned dreams

so I would listen to her fairy-tales
wondering how much she believed

eventually she’d forget I was there
become lost in mummbles to herself

I tried to smile, but it was hard
Inevitably, I’d excuse myself…

she kept on talking, smoking, drinking
until, at last, she passed away

gone, to wherever a godless woman goes
I missed her then, that old lady… grandma

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