Tambourines no longer clash
against her hips
Gone are the dreadlocks, scarlet headband,
jangling earrings, playful mouth
Shed of flowing white robes
she marches into the restaurant
in fitted designer suit,
briefcase in right hand,
seats herself business-like,
checks the time on her dazzling
silver and gold bracelet watch
I ignore her rehearsed entrance
by glancing at the menu,
picture the bountiful afternoon
at the little shop by the river,
the chubby gnome who engraved
our special tattoo on her inner thigh,
kept us laughing with his naughty needle,
and wonder how in the few short years
since I last saw her
she could become so old so young,
sell out so fast