Transient Beauty

She keeps the sash
that proudly reads
Miss Teen Tulsa 1994
folded in half, at the bottom of her suitcase
which has creased it permanently.

Sometimes, always after midnight,
in a dark fifty-dollar hotel room,
she slips it on,
in silence,
save for the soft rush of the interstate.

In pink satin pumps,
she struts across the room
shoulders back, head held high,
and waves good-bye to a dream.
She was always destined to be
the transient beauty queen.



Poetry by Alex
Read 234 times
Written on 2009-01-28 at 04:02

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Dee Daffodil
Wow !! I really enjoyed this one. A slice of dreams lost along the way... Lovely !
Hugs,
Dee
2009-01-28