Q-Tips
In charge of the museum store,
She was an ex-New Yorker.
Her hair was white, her glasses black
(Like me!) and yes, a talker.
She spoke of moving to the Cape
And though she missed the city,
She’d learned to love her lifestyle now,
Less hassled and less gritty.
In passing, she remarked about
Her other “Q-Tip” pals.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
She answered, “Older white-haired gals.
I guess we look like Q-Tips,
With our heads of snowy white.”
I laughed ‘cause I’m a Q-Tip, too
And somehow, that’s all right.
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