anne – part 1

the scent of sun in her hair
that’s what she wants
the smell of fresh air
as she leans toward the fan

no one in the store
(haven’t been for hours (days?))
no one dances in the isle
to the inmutable muzac
no one cares that her hair
and thoughts
are windblown

she glances at the basket
holding the inventory
that needs to be shelved
she looks away
moving like a woman
thrice her age

she decides to mop the isles

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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