haunting

old and frail she passes me by
dressed in a slightly creased cotton cheong sum
her wig,black and coarse
carefully,with much daily practise,
affixed on the top of her head
her hunch disfigures her
once,perhaps admirable physique
time has made it's mark by carving creases on her forehead
a whiff of her smell of age finds its way into my nose

and life's temporariness
and death's inevitability
haunts me