Sometimes Sunday

She stepped out from the pages of a fashion magazine and looked as if she’d never seen the image of a beauty queen,
but the light of day betrayed her
as the moguls that had made her
walked away.

The snow, cold, fell heavy and
only an old coat
to warm and keep me dry.

I think this death is just the filler
between a life and something
so much bigger
than my imagination comprehends.

But all dreams must have some basis
in the truth and then the case is
solved.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.