Rosemary quit writing poetry
one day
and disappeared, using her
married name.
She emerged years later,
the one and the same,
with something to say.
She stood by the church’s
front door,
handing out bibles,
praising God and
offering a pleasant
g’day.
Sometimes there just
isn’t anything more
than a pleasant
g’day.
Nobody reads her
poems anymore
anyway.