145. Shirley

R.I.P. Shirley Verrett
(May 31, 1931 – November 5, 2010)

Teetering in at
half-past-ten,
old Shirley
appears –

shopping bag draped over
one arm, pink jacket
dotted in faux
crystals:

rolling my eyes,
I grin over at
Mark at the
shelves,
stocking;

Shirley has caught
as victim some
helpless mother,
baby slung over her
front side:

she is being assaulted with
ornery small talk
interspersed
with
diva-tales –

I’m not quite sure
(half-the time)
if most of these are
true;

sometimes it all seems
so wonderful
I think she’s
senile;
or maybe lives like this
existed:

Carmen, Normas,
Ebolis; her latest
unruly
soprano –
some language I don’t
quite
understand,
standing here in my
green-and-white
grocer’s uniform

puzzled, and
perplexed.