Crying Girl

Brad won’t know what he’s done.

And while the breeze blows back
The long shards of her blonde hair,
Her tears will mix with cheap mascara
And stream across her temples again,
Showering that plain-pretty face again
As she walks along crowded side-streets
Leaving her anonymous and inspiring
For for the strangers, just a Crying Girl,
Nameless and timeless, painted and printed
A thousand times before there was a Brad,
And a thousand more after his death.

And that, I suppose, is her vengeance.