In the barred window hung a perfect dress.
Its train swept the floor. It’s creamy folds shined
with dreams of wedded bliss. Wait for me, dress,
for I’ve not yet met a man to call mine.
Beyond the next window down that same street,
a family gathers to share a meal
while I stand cold and alone on the street.
No supper waits for me. No one to steal
a moment of their time, just a cold hearth,
a silent home, me on my own. I turn
Head quickly away but I feel that dearth.
Paws click on glass. The dog toppled an urn.
Ashes fly and coat both dog and window
leaving me alone with the cold dark now.
Also submitting this for The Daily Post’s prompt: “The Outsiders.”