Cock's Comb

Her shoulders are like wings.
She sits on the patio outside,
eating eggs and croissant,
her hair swept up into a jaunty
cock's comb atop her head.

She is young, sweet-faced, lithe,
and as she lifts her fork,
the muscles in her back move
under the beautiful brown skin
as if she were preparing to fly.

The little sparrows who love
the patio and its many crumbs,
bits of fallen baguette to peck at,
are her feathered cousins.
They watch her, hoping she
will let fall a bit of her breakfast.

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Vicki Abshire, once accurately described as a "gregarious recluse," lives with one of her sons in Seattle, Washington, where she frequents coffeehouses and indulges in happy hour at the local lounge. She writes for the love of words. A few of her flash-fiction stories appeared online at the 1001 Nights Cast, and the late, lamented Dakota House Journal published several of her poems and essays.