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Monday, June 11, 2012

My Mistake


by June T. Bassemir


She was only a wee mite,
with hair of snow white.
She reminded me so much of Gram.

With unsteady feet,
she crossed the broad street.
It was then, I looked down at her hand.

There was white curling smoke,
and this is no joke;
her fingers had nicotine stain.

How revolting that sight,
and to boot – she was TIGHT!
It gave me a queer sort of pain.
                  
(ca: 1950)



copyright June T. Bassemir, 2012

1 comment:

  1. Pretty neat poem, June. Nice twist. Thanks for sending it.
    Dave

    ReplyDelete