She carries keys in her hand
though she dropped her car off
underground and across land
over an hour ago,
it’s a status symbol,
as is her tight dress
and higher heels than the rest,
her handbag too is money defined
lined with faux fur she thinks is real
with a teal exterior that, well,
is the cheapest colour on her person.
She sits in between the
no-purpose-at-all-walls,
studded and wrong and placed
at angles in the room that
throw light from shade to gloom.
a poem
-
coffeeshoppoems.com