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Pretty in Pink.

she lives in the local Spar

 - well, she’s always in there

whenever I go by,

or on the bench by the lights

drawing on a Woodbine

whatever the weather

berating the captive audience

feet away, praying for green:

 

my sinking heart portends

a voice of gravel & screeching metal

before my conscious mind registers

 

lipstick smeared

without the aid of a mirror,

mascara too.

 

Are you my friend ?

she sweetly asks some poor unfortunate

with the menace of a meat grinder

 

Sure, Doris

 - you know I am

     you know I am.