like a hunched-over, half-drunk
curmudgeon of a wobbly wino
with a lifetime of sorrows to drown.
She attends like a bawdy barmaid -
busty, casual about modesty –
and serves with an affectionate
familiarity that turns faces red.
I wag my head, smile at passersby,
reach into the bag, unfold the little blue
rocket-ship swaddle, pause, watch
their stare, refold the blanket.