The gospel music of Andy Griffith,
Elvis, or Ray Stevens wafts through the door
of the café she frequents. Today she wears
a plaid blazer over the floral skirt she bought
for special occasions like bingo night at the local
legion hall.  Having long since noticed the deep
yellow that invades her once soft locks, she pats her coifed hair.
Scooting into her booth, she notices the Spring flowers in the vase
and orders her “usual" (grilled cheese, chicken soup, and a stack
of pancakes), and wipes the silverware with the rag
she squirrels away in the side pocket of her purse. 
Averting her eyes, she speaks to no one as she walks out
the door; not wanting to create relations.  Unaware
everyday they save the booth in anticipation of her visits.