I

                There she goes

                The woman

                In the blond wig

                Walking;

                And when it rains

                A blue umbrella.


                II

                Always perfect

                Her blond wig

                The teacher's wig

                Each hair in place

                Shining and brittle

                Just like her classroom

                Her lessons, and each

                Student's work

                Properly recorded;

                Then she retired,

                She wanted to write

                Yet her characters

                Her plots so perfectly

                Formed remain mute.

                So she walks

                Through the woods

                Lost

                In her perfect

                Blond wig.


                III

                When night retreats

                And day approaches

                She walks

                Through the woods--

                As it yawns, stretches

                Calls, sings, murmurs--

                She hears nothing

                Sees nothing

                Knows nothing

                But the beat

                From her

                Walkman.


                IV

                The woman

                In the blond wig

                Who walks

                Wants to be a writer.

                How can she?

                With her brain

                Skewered between

                The earphones

                Of a walkman


                V

                The woman

                in the blond wig

                no longer teaches

                nor writes

                but maintains

                her garden

                banishing all

                imperfections

                her garden

                as perfect

                as her wig.


                VI

                The woman

                in the blond wig

                used to feed the birds

                no longer

                the birds

                were such messy eaters

                spilling seed husks

                on her neat garden.


                VII

                The woman

                in the blond wig

                mows her lawn

                sitting straight

                on her tractor-mower

                her wig

                her face

                hidden under

                an enormous

                straw hat.


                VIII

                Every morning

                she sweeps her deck

                her wig

                reflecting

                the early morning

                sun.

                In the evening

                she sits on her deck

                in the glow

                of evening light.

                Alone.

Copyright © Peter Goodwin, 2005. All Rights Reserved.