THE LITTLE WOMAN

She held the door for me —

she being sixty three, I guessed.

I didn’t ask her her age —

just assumed a number

that rhymed with “me”

and was likely close to the mark.

 

I’m sure she could tell

that  I was older than she.

 

In line at the Post Office

(I, ahead, at her insistence).

 

We talked about height.

She was very short —

her head at my chest.

 

When I told her

“I shrink every day —

tall in the morning

and much less at night”

she didn’t believe me.

 

“Would I lie to you?

I said, a bit defensively .

Then she believed.

 

The clerk behind the counter

was in no mood for play.

I got some stamps from her

but it was the little woman

who made my day

which, I confess

doesn’t take much —

sometimes.

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