The Porter

The Porter

She sat in the same chair
Everyday; the one closest to the door,
And spoke at a level just below shouting.
“Hello. Sir.”

“Hi, how are you doing?”
“I’m OK.”
She sat there
sipping her small coffee,
in her
clean,
thick,
woolen,
dark blue,
long coat,
Knitted powder blue scarf,
Neatly brushed graying hair,
Skillfully applied makeup –
--Not too much,
And bright silver, star shaped
earrings that dangled and
swung and
--twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little stars --
Twinkled when she talked.

I walked past,
and ordered
from the Cashier. 
She was talking to me still about something, but
I didn’t care.
“Take care.”  She said.
“Ok hon.”
“I’m ok.”

“OK. That’s good.”
I smiled that polite smile everyone uses,
Devoid of meaning and
Warmth.

She tried to smile but,
Something in her was broken and
her smile,
She could
Not.

I watched the TV.
A very pretty newscaster was speaking and
My attention was diverted to her.

I left and she still was sitting there,
Sipping her coffee.

Later that same day
I saw her still sitting,
in the same chair and
Announcing to all that would come in,
“Hello.  I’m OK.”

That night, she had to be shooed out,
The assistant manager was closing the store.

Copyright 11 February 2008