At halftime, she finds
an open mirror, checks
her makeup, sweat
glistening on her forehead.
She runs her tongue
along her upper lip, pulls
a comb through her long
brown hair, pushes it up
on the sides, adds a new
line of lipstick, smoothes
down her skirt. On the
way out, she turns and
looks over her shoulder.
"Head Cheerleader" by Jack Ridl, from Losing Season. © Cavan
1 comment:
there's something mysterious and magical about good poetry, and how and why it works! i love your poetry Karen!
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