Reading “Gone with the Wind”

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Brown Bagging It

Her bobbed hair,
slim legs
lifted, stretched
out on a
park bench –
brown bagging it.

Chewing whole wheat
bread, reading
“Gone with the Wind”
can’t see her face,
she ignores me.

She hikes her skirt,
purple flowered silk
above her thigh’s
legs crossed.

A plastic fork fits
into her right hand,
probably home made
salad of some kind.

Hope she drops it.
Drops it on her
skirt of silk;
perhaps the dressing
is made with oil?

Trying to sleep on a
park bench – I stare
into the mist –
suddenly despise her

That girl…
brown bagging it,
on my property.

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