A girl a mod striding always striding
Shakes her shaggy short hairdo
Her blouse billowing above the rigid skirt
Such as Pharaoh might have worn
She turns her head away
From the direction in which she hurries
Toward us spectators
But her eyes a little askance
Seem to seek the past

She is a grown woman
But the custom of the time calls her girl
Not childhood but the apotheosis of youth
When youth exercises its prerogative
Or is depicted commercially to say
See our vibrant bodies’ life
You who are closer to death than we

Without death
Only life’s prolonged distress
With death
Life is no problem

Or perhaps her cornered eyes express dismay
At being so observed
Of being placed so as to be observed
Of being judged for her performance
Maybe she likes the billowing blouse the rigid skirt
Or maybe she is complying with command
And doubtless she’s been paid to pose midstride
And payment or compliance
What’s the difference

Life is a problem
For all who live
Close to death