The Crumb

The Crumb The Grand Old Dame sat at the table With cream on the corner of her mouth From a donut she ate And a coffee in her shaking hand A white visor donned her head And red sprinkled with white Was the color of her hair Reflecting from a foggy light From the ceiling in a dirty diner At one time she was the elite The meat Of notoriety of a select group of society Where decisions were made By a select few Whom the masses never knew That shaped the way the world would turn The hand that shook once kissed by royalty Now wizened and palsied Picked up a crumb and stared at it As if it were a gem The jewels amassed as she recalled in times of wealth she placed the crumb in her mouth and conjured up tastes when her palate was young the delicate meats, the caviar her suite in Paris her gentleman friends But all is gone now Oh dear, she laments, oh dear Then she rises from the table and stands erect Befitting her character And leaves the contents on the table And the past behind June 23, 2003 (Movin’ to Florida) © Ralph Sergi