Queue
WHEN THE WOMAN behind me takes
her change and walks away I can see
she is not walking. Her movement is just
something inside her that
falls and casts its shadow
into the material world.
Her innate reaction is to reach out
and catch it like she does the spilled
kotex, almost convinced that
one day she will not miss. It will
not fall and break at her
hot boots that turn in ten
items or less and head off.
But you can see that she's missed again,
even hear it.
You get the feeling this thing won't
stop falling, in love with her black leather stride,
a fashionable attempt to outpace
the inevitable.