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.
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