3 AM St. Petersburg

Poetry

Brown curly hair pulled back tight
she sits at a smooth metal table
grasping a steaming styrofoam cup
with hands calloused from manual labor

Her skin is soft with age 
textured with deep wrinkles from
years in the St. Petersburg sun

Dark eyes hold the sadness of life
amplified by large round glasses
lips taut with memories

Dreams and discarded cigarette stubs 
lie at her feet