existenialism in the dollar store

the clerk attempted a smile
through her black lipstick,
and her black fingernails
cruised along the register keypad,
while her other hand
manipulated the scanner gun;
her low-riders showed
extra belly and love-handles
below her too short t-shirt:
she was either single,
or he just didn't care much
about how she looked in public;
she said "that will be two-ten, please,"
and I looked into her eyes,
and said with my best sincere smile,
"okay, but what is it now?"

her smile quickly faded,
and I paid her.

May 29, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

No comments:

Post a Comment