About the Poem
Miranda is a once popular woman who never thought she'd be alone but now sadly is. She spends her Sundays at a local poolside hangout vicariously living the lives of those around her but not happy in her pretense. I met her one Sunday.
Miranda on Sunday |
| by Fred Hobbs |
| Sitting alone on an old wooden stool By the small Tiki bar at the side of the pool She's been sitting there drinking all afternoon... Alone but not lonely, who's she trying to fool? She comes here quite often on Sundays of late A hotel on the boardwalk that's less than first rate She comes for the drinks; she's not out for a mate No one's out for her either, she know it's her fate She waves to a couple she sees all the time And the couple waves back, a young pair in their prime She orders Corona with one slice of lime The bartender brings it; she tips him a dime She sits there till sunset, not making a sound And longs for the days when the boys came around ‘til a lifetime of sorrows are thoroughly drowned she then slips from her barstool and heads homeward bound. |
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1 Visitor Comments
Ruth
If you've walked on the earth more than a few years you've met Miranda. Well visioned and told.
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