Wanderer

She used to come on a Thursday afternoon
with her powdered wig and false teeth
Rich but a bit too quirky
you could even hear her breathe
a bit too eccentric
always out of key,
can’t you see –
she’s nothing like you and me?

Grandmother tolerated her
everyone did
but the moment she left
they’d laugh and they’d kid
talking about her hair
her teeth, her skin
her rheumy eyes,
the hairs on her chin

But all talk would go to one thing
when everyone was done
where was all her money?
where had it all gone?
Last I heard she came to California
married a man more than half her age
no one knows where she now
a fool, a wanderer, never the sage

But I often find myself wondering
whatever became of her
not caring about the money
how did her life become a blur?
a person of no importance
but for the money she once had
she’s been gone for so long now
I hope her life wasn’t really that sad.

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