She’s still got her makeup on

from the last night that she lived.

The blue in her crease, the electric shade

fuzzing out, like the awkward ending of a telephone call,

if people even make those

any more.

I wonder if they do.

-

Her hair half curled,

her smile still set,

from flashing itself across the room

again and again

dance after dance.

I wonder if she’ll change her clothes before she goes out again.

-

New time, new place,

But new faces can mean same clothes, same face,

same made-up face,

to greet one another.

A bit of rearranging is all it will take

for the girl to continue on

without making any change to herself.

She can play the game for another night.

I wonder if she’ll do this again when tonight comes to an end.