Ann Burnett

Woman in a Burka

I watch her standing there like a mourner,
a Scottish dominie, a Wee Free minister,
black, shrouded.

Long fingers, scarlet-nailed,
ringed in gold and glinting stones,
clutch a handbag, tan-coloured, logo patterned, twin-buckled;
a shouty bag.
Look at me, it says.

She waits in line, then takes her purchase to sit
facing away from the crowds.
Surreptitiously, she lifts her veil
enough to insert the vanilla ice-cream cone.

I glimpse pink tongue.
She sees me watch. I catch her eye
and know that she is smiling.

Copyright © Ann Burnett 2013

Ann Burnett writes all sorts of pieces, some of which are at


About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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