Scavenger

While wearing the garb Of a twenty year old On a 50 something body Her eyes rove hungrily, Spotting her quarry She pounces upon The daily newspapers Left by a prior denizen Of the local coffee bar Every word on every page Is ravenously devoured The lives of others Happy or horrid Fills her empty hours Pouring over her soul Like so many lattes Prepared by bored baristas When she's had her fill She stows the carcasses Under her cushions Guarding them For later gnawing And when our eyes meet She knows I lie in wait For her to vacate the seat So I can pick the bones clean