His dress reached just above the knee

and he wobbled in heels as though

the tide had gone out

 

The lush landscape

next to the highway

was a mocking tribute

to a youthful hope

 

He shifted his handbag

as his slip peeked out to brush

his oily, gnarled knees

 

Llamas and cows grazed

while passersby absently waved

as if in communion

with a lost nature

 

He wasn’t sure where he was going

but his lipstick was on point

and his wig blew gently in the breeze

 

It’s going to be ok,

the air seems to puff out

in a kind of morse code

and it’s nice, even if it’s a lie.