About the Poem
Miranda is a once popular woman who never thought she'd be alone but now sadly is. She spends her Sundays at a local poolside hangout vicariously living the lives of those around her but not happy in her pretense. I met her one Sunday.
Miranda on Sunday
|by Fred Hobbs|
|Sitting alone on an old wooden stool
By the small Tiki bar at the side of the pool
She's been sitting there drinking all afternoon...
Alone but not lonely, who's she trying to fool?
She comes here quite often on Sundays of late
A hotel on the boardwalk that's less than first rate
She comes for the drinks; she's not out for a mate
No one's out for her either, she know it's her fate
She waves to a couple she sees all the time
And the couple waves back, a young pair in their prime
She orders Corona with one slice of lime
The bartender brings it; she tips him a dime
She sits there till sunset, not making a sound
And longs for the days when the boys came around
‘til a lifetime of sorrows are thoroughly drowned
she then slips from her barstool and heads homeward bound.
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