NaPoWriMo: Day 24

Running behind on typing these rough drafts up. This is about someone I served in a bank once.

Widow

A husband, wife, he’s not decided, still
he likes ‘widow’ all that word instills.
Adjusts wig and dress and tights he purses
lips, glances into mirror, rehearses
arguments and tears; finds the worst memory
(a dead dog) and applies blusher tenderly.

This will be his finest moment,
a performance to savour.

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