The Stranger

We spied her in the Local
on Sunday morning cool,
Forty heads did swivel
as she graced the swivel stool.
She ordered West Coast Cooler
and moistened wine-red lips,
We traced the flimsy gingham
from her neckline to her hips.
She filled the fitted Levi’s
of perfect powder blue
And tossed blonde hair, she didn’t care
for blokes like me and you.
With dazzling film-star smile
she asked Paddy for a light,
The way she kissed that cigarette
was a rare disturbing sight.
The aisle from bar to ladies room
became a model’s ramp,
When she swayed in that direction
watched by every scamp.
She straddled lucky stool again
and ordered one more drink,
A sidelong glance, a sneaky look,
watched every sipful sink.
She paid her way with twenty
from a gold abundant purse,
And when she headed for that door
forty men did curse.
We met her on that Sunday
I remember well because,
While the others mourned her passing
I just wondered who she was.