I bent down to her ear and said Thank you for all you’ve done Not just for NY But for the World She looked at me expressionless from her chair I don’t think that she understood nor cared Then I handed her a little Bag Containing two lipsticks And two pencils I think she threw the pencils on the floor and Wondered aloud Why was everyone giving her pencils?
She did not notice that of the two that I gave her one was stamped in gold With the one word Hustler And on the other, two Strictly Business I made no suggestions nor references I didn’t smirk I must have appeared a bit sweet A treacly aberration
It doesn’t matter I had selected two perfect reds in LA One a bit more blue and one a classic vampish carmine Blood red can be a challenge even against pale pale Skin.
Standing in the lift Fully attuned she caught me not merely looking into her eyes But seeing what I saw A death’s head? I hate when I’m caught doing that
Under the fluorescent light She was dog rough Pasty with sad sunken eyes I was thrown, but by what exactly Her magpie distress? Her etheric calamity? Her puffy, aging face?
We sat and spoke for a while later that night She did not recognize me at all and apologized maybe it was the next day that the three of us had lunch Everyone in good spirits The mandrake’s screams Forgotten with smiles and a wink Memory bamboozled and Make-up duly applied She took out the lipstick And redrew the lines She liked the shining black case with the little black ribbon for a pull
She told our companion sitting on a stoop smoking cigarettes I like your friend and I wondered does she realize that we already know one another?