At the Last Hurdle

Hurdle
The Hurdle Headstone Boon Bane

AT THE LAST HURDLE

Mrs. Hurdle waited
many years to come
into 
her own self.

Pets finally died,
regrets passed on,

and her lifetime-
guaranteed fry pan
lost its 
battle with warp,
uncomplaining.

Black soled
slippers wore on,
towels unravelled beyond,

baby birds dropped on the curb.

She gave up on plants,
the greed for green,
grasps for light,

and the thirst—
so much need for new.

Friday,
there’s an even trade
of graves with her late

husband’s spinster sister,
to take her solo space,

away from apostle,
far from him,
all on her own.

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