Bent around the photo album, her fingers short and narrow
on pictures circa eighty-five: her boyfriend and his family.
“You still get that look on your face”
“What’s that?”
“That bored look. … You still get that look on your face.”
A little mouse peaking round a broken stone,
with a tiny almost smile that giggles full and wide,
“Ah ha ha! Such a little boyscout! I love that!”
Little upturned round-tipped nose pivot-point;
narrow chin,
cheeks that roll and sweep to eyes that pop and bug–
forehead curtained by brown waving frizzing drying locks.
Margaux in a flowerprint cotton skirt and beige lending shirt,
Margaux leaning big-eyed,
“Have you written anything else about me?”