She's there.
She's always there.
Combing her straight brown hair.
Hair that's intent is to be perfect,
and it would be if wasn't so dried out by the straightener she uses every night and maybe mornings.
The reflection of her eye catches mine.
She wonders what i think of her.
I make my way over to the metal stalls
that only stay standing due to the rusty nail the custodian hammered in years previous.
I swing the door shut
and drape my Ecuadorian purse over the slimy hook on the door.
These seconds of my life are never pleasant.
I prepare to grip my thighs
and squat over the dirty
pee stained ceramic bowl.
No comments:
Post a Comment