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Zen Chick

Zen ChickRosies on the phone it’s not past elevensleepily asking for her childhood friendit’s early for her they stay up til two AMplaying poker or guitar herofifty years old and mellow as an old catyou can’t step on her tail she’s pulled it all ina zen chick cool as the side of the pillowyou set your head onto before you fall away to dream.Yet she drives one of those little carsjust small enough to dart through cracks in the trafficcusses in another languageskids into parking spaces backwardsoy, to be in the backseat you close your eyesand feel the wind through the thin plasticno one says you must be monasticto be peaceful but you must be realistic.Walking through the crowd heading for the gameshe has a purposeful crowd clearing way about herauras clashing they sense her presenceand move one hip aside.The cell pops open the mole upon her cheekbobs up and down as she GPS’s where she isand asks where is everyone elseyou can come to me or I can come to you.

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