She still gets out, just to see and be seen. “’swhat life’s about, innit?
Havin fun and livin’ it up!”
She goes towards the mirror, armed with her best cover-up
and a steely will. She hears a knock:
“I don’t mean to be mean, but you could use a little something to make you...look...more young...” He shuts the door.
Right then, my mockingbird flies by their windowsill.

She swipes again. The prim and proper cashier shakes her head,
“Keeps gettin’ rejected.”
So he grabs his card, says “Never mind!” and races out the door. The bell chime’s unimpressed.
A pack of smokes. Our prince of paupers lights up. “Where to now? What kind of toys can empty pockets buy?” His head hangs down.
Right then, my mockingbird flies past, and home to nest.

My Mockingbird, tell me true: Why don’t anybody sing the blues like you?