When Flowers Bend In The Breeze

This morning, I complimented Sadie

on her makeup. “Going somewhere special?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders,

looked at the neighbor’s

Night Blooming Jasmine bush,

looked out at the street.

I thought I’d walk myself over

to Sunset and Cahuenga,

get some food, watch the flowers

bend in the breeze if you get my meaning.

I told her that Sunset and Cahuenga

wasn’t a nice area.

I know, said Sadie.

I like that corner. The working girls

look like girls who actually work:

not much frippery or outrageous hair,

average-looking clothes, though tight,

maybe an unbuttoned blouse

or a barely-there tank top.

It’s almost a little bland for hookers.

They are mostly sad, said our Sadie,

even when smiling and teasing.

There’s a pizza place there, too.

I might get a pizza.

I heard that hookers like pizza.

Sadie looks for sadness.

Often, she has to rearrange

her griefs to match the seasons

so as to be sad

at the appropriate events.

I thought about going along.

I asked if I might join her.

She shook her head. No, she said.

You’re mostly just a watcher.

You wouldn’t fit in. I thought

how much I liked pizza.

I decided she didn’t fit in either.

I hugged Sadie, said “Toodle-Loo,”

and left to buy milk.

Later, I recalled the afternoon

we went to a seedy bar

Sadie’s choice for cheap cocktails–

Bloody Marys with wilted celery sticks

which I swore had been rescued

from finished drinks–rinsed and reused.

While there, a working girl

with amazing makeup

tapped Sadie on the shoulder.

“You working tonight, Honey?” she asked.

Sadie laughed, said No, not tonight,

and winked at me.

I’ve always been curious about that.

When I asked, Sadie said

she doesn’t remember it.