Waiting, in a daze.
She hears a song.
Wistful about times gone by.
a moody eyelinered man sings about love, and love lost on a mix tape now discarded.
Music beams her back.
Permed hair, lots of hairspray.
Bright pink lipstick.
A skirt that swirls just a bit, tanned legs
Dancing, feeling weightless, no pain.
Her eyes are closed, feeling happy and tranquil.
Lost in memories of friends and good times.
Then, “ma’am, MA’AM, its your turn”.
Nothing like being called ma’am
to jolt one back to harsh reality.
Not much to say about this one, except that I confess to having big hair at one time. In summer the bright pink lipstick usually went with a tan, in the days when I didn’t worry about aging or skin cancer.