A woman stepped onto the train,
her head a mess,
like she just got out of bed,
and I thought,
At your age,
you really should comb your hair.
And then I felt vain.
I thought she must be in the art world—
own a gallery or something—
to be her age
and still trying to look
funky.
But she was carrying one of those
white canvas bags
that school teachers lug around,
and I thought,
she’s just some school teacher
the mean boys pick on,
the girls are afraid of.
Her skin glistened
from whatever cream she put on it,
and I thought,
It must be so hard
for a woman
to grow old.
And in my mind,
she looked at me,
and said,
“It will happen to you someday.”
And I thought,
someday
not so far away.
© 2002
