The things you notice about her,
She hangs around her neck the most peculiar charms that bedazzle in all colors of the spectrum
Brass Owl, four rings through a chain, a single topaz
Clanging, dancing freely and hovering over the marble table off in the corner of that neon twenty-four hour, sixteen-year-old coffeeshop.
The songs she listens to, on that headphone of hers,
You don’t know what they are,
But she looks the type for Morrissey, Oasis, The Kooks,
And Elliott Smith,
You bet your life she has those nights in which she puts his “Twilight” on repeat and sits on the bedroom floor, crying or laughing
In fact it is a BeeGee’s tune on which she finishes.
Now she stands up and puts her special red ceramic mug in her shoulder bag having disposed of her mocha,
She is little, small, but rest assured, Miss Madeline Susan is none of these things at all.