Blanche, my Frenemy

She saw me once standing there, helping her mother

out of the bus and she smiles at me with her crooked teeth.

Her blonde hair waves to me in the frisky wind

And her purple blouse screams to me diva in one direction

I thought she'd be nice, but no her tongue and her voice

boisterous and bitter rang out while another comes by.

Blanche, my frenemy, I could never call you a witch

for those times you've appologized were none.

I remember your voice and your unkind ways

Left others walking away from you.

I was sorry for Blanche for her stress she created more

more to the eye I could not ignore.

There were a few times you would talk and be nice

but boy you are ever a character I can't forget.

Your voice still rings in my ears.

This poem is about: 
My community


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