Off Latrobe Street, where dinners bloom
Beneath the dusk and city’s plume,
An older woman takes her throne
In outdoor chair, yet not alone.
Her voice is clear, the speaker loud,
It cuts between the dining crowd.
She leans with ease, no rush, no care,
Half in the talk, half in the air.
An ear pod rests in her left ear,
A modern thread to someone near.
But still she lets the world all know
The tale she spins, both fast and slow.
Forks are paused, then meals resume,
As laughter swims through twilight's bloom.
Among the chatter, she holds her own—
A queen of talk in her evening zone.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
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