A girl is freezin in a telephone booth,
huddled in her flimsy coat,
her face stained by tears
and smeared wif lipskick.
She breathes on thin lil fingers.
Fingers like ice.Glass beads in her ears.
She has to bet her way back down alone
down the icy street.
First frost. A beginning of losses the first frost of telephone.
It is the start of winter glittering on her cheeks.
The first frost of having been hurt.