Madonna of the Cheroot

Esmeralda surveys the world.
Her dark eyes flash, an open challenge.
Arms crossed,
A portrait of serene disinterest;
Dark hair unbound.
No tiara or diadem for her.
A tough, no-nonsense Madonna
for the modern age.
In a borrowed dress, bored but serene.
She counts down the minutes and,
begrudges every second that passes.
daring the artist to flatter her.
Not caring if he does.
She looks out with a thousand yard stare.
Keeps her mysteries, no intention to share.
World wise but world-weary.
Her knowing gaze looks out across the ages,
Still fresh and clear as if
The lines were done only yesterday,
Given black and white immortality of sorts,
Even if no one remembers her name.