Scavenger - Redux

Scavenger - Redux

Garb of a twenty year old
On a 50 something body
Her eyes rove hungrily,
Spotting her quarry
She pounces upon
The daily papers
Left by the last denizen
Of the local coffee bar

Every word on every page
Is ravenously devoured
The lives of others
Happy or horrid
Fills her empty hours
Pouring over her soul
Like so many lattes
Prepared by bored baristas

When she's had her fill
She stows the carcasses
Under her cushions
Guarding them
For later gnawing
And when our eyes meet
She knows I lie in wait
For her to vacate the seat
So I can pick the bones clean

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A re-write of an earlier poem. I like this version better