Her money, she repeats to herself, connects her
to the whole world. She still sashays into
Joan Shepp on Walnut, even if she can't
buy anything. The fabrics, the cuts of the
dresses- this is who she is.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she
knows she's been tossed like a rogue piece
of fabric, & the hands that cut her have made
her inelegant. To handle this cloth with dishrag
hands, is to wade knee-deep into the darkness
of the suburbs, frozen like jell-o around her.
Under the Knife
A razor was placed on a table outside-
someone handed it in. From that moment
forward, everyone at this Starbucks (the
staff) were considered under the knife.
They were all young enough to be my
kids, and they all got hit before we could
make any arrests. I still get my coffee there
every day- the replacements are (as usual)
the same kids all over again. The point (for
me) is that this is a far uglier world than most
people believe it to be. The older you get, the harder it is to take.