Diamond of Jello
From my stool in the diner I watch
the old woman with elm tree arms
command the big booth in back
and roar for a menu,
take a half hour to read it
before placing her order.
Watching her eat, I realize
life for her is a dollop of whip cream,
a twirling ballerina, on a diamond of Jello.
I raise my water glass
in a silent toast. Bravo, I whisper.
I wish her good cheer.
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