She was by her own words, a bitch,

but I wondered why the blond.

It was an unnatural dye job


above her dark brown brows,

which told the true color of her carpet

and said her natural color

would be attractive.


She too was a pit bull.

A spitfire of attitude that knew it all

and for the moment, I was her boss.

Back then, I was a teller

and she didn’t like to be told.

I ran my department absolute

and she ran from me.

We started on the wrong foot,

miss stepping on each other’s toes.


A good year of attempts,

I gave up

the fruitless search for better footing

and suddenly she turned.

A calm in our storm

we became… Friends is a word,

but I would never use it

where she was concerned

and she would probably take offense.


She had a knack of turning,

making herself a victim,

but there was, something…

She had a smile, she denied,

always pursing her lips to a frown.

Her eyes shown the sparkle

of a “you will not hurt me” pride,

a glaring defense kept on the inside

far beneath her childish innocence.


When the mask cracked,

her face couldn’t hide

the full-toothed, kitten smile

of her large eyes.

I never knew their color,

for they looked through you

searching for joy, afraid of hurt,

leery of pain and wanting so much

the unconditionality of a life,

promised once upon a time.


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