Invisible Woman, a variation

Your handwriting so much like a female’s forms

such articulated curves to make word bubbles

blown floating up and down the page. And your book

smoothly opened to late-term feminism annotated

with a gliding gel pen and dull pink highlighter

dismantles any hope for standard mid-country values.

Your empty chair two hours I explored until spent

for time and forced to bag my books and leave

you only with a fistful of malt balls as surprises.