The tittering biddies in town / walked along State Street whispering, / That’s where she lives. All alone in that big house.
/ Terribly strange. Never married, of course. / Maybe Edith had that comical indifference in the 1940s. / I saw it once in my great-aunt Ida after Holy Communion. / In her Sunday best, she laid on the horn and flipped off / parents blocking the street for photographs. / Maybe Edith strode downtown with revered elegance— / kitten heels matching a taffeta clutch,
/ making small talk with town eccentrics / before meeting up with the gals at the Opera House.