Bike Lady In November
by Jim Moore
Today she's wearing an orange hat.
The crocheted style of a grandmother, or mother,
A remnant made to last from an earlier generation
That dates her like a calendar in the cold.
She's looking for bottles,
Each one a five-cent returnable,
And from each side she pulls at her cone-shaped headgear,
Almost like a downhill skier,
Fidgeting, working the familiar places with her fingers
While her eyes work the road.
It's the kind of thing she's grown used to,
Two-wheeled and barren on these frozen streets,
And what once was a half-finished lunch break drink,
Or the passersby's liquid refreshment,
Find their way into her clean, white bag--
Each one slung loosely across the top of a basket,
Nearly the bounty of full haversacks
That shes come to treasure like gold.
Posted on 01/11/2008
Copyright © 2019 Jim Moore
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/11/08 at 04:38 PM|
This is kind of like a baglady with a twist. The descriptions of her crocheted hat makes me think of all the funny items my mother-in-law used to make. I like how you have her working the hat with her fingers as she works the road with her eyes. The last stanza is so rich. I like how you don't tell me exactly if she is gathering these bottles because she has to or because she simple wants to.