YARD SALES

In the era of great movies,
they called women like her
dizzy dames. Good for a laugh
their lipsticked smiles still
poke out of old albums. I see her
pereched on a Desoto after the war,
showing off movie star legs
in a polka-dotted dress,
wide brimmed hat, and
open toed shoes.
But dames like that, the movies warned
don't age well.
Now beached up in an age of
action flicks and MTV,
she goes to yard sales
searching for heart-shaped pillows
and knick-knacks
with painted faces.
This is the last movie,
her life strewn across some
stranger's lawn, the grass
humming a theme song.
And she comes as always,
dressed for the part--cheeks
rouged to a feverish blush,
her eyebrows heavy black crescents
that have held her face
from tears for decades.
And sailing over the litter
that giggle they loved back
in the era of great cinema.
High pitched and dizzy,
it ripples through the air
like a blast of jazz trumpet
played on the wrong speed.

first appeared in Laurel Review