A new day had begun,
she found herself
among the collective.
Watched, and watching him
from her booth, the only place
she lived these days...
Beneath pools of black coffee
between cracks of maroon
pleather upholstery,
She spied him surreptitiously
with her little eye - those childhood
games played on continual loop,
ooops... did he catch her glance?
Now smiling into her compact,
the blush of her mirror reflecting
hope as often reapplied as her lipstick
in shades of Apple Pie in the Sky Red.
A Maybelline bestseller
America, America....
God paint his face on me.
Me was the new black.
It's the century of the Me, yet
Everyone thought they
were so down with empathy.
E to the M to pathy.
was that spoonful of sugar
helping bitter truth go down as we
Fed on the holy host, its communion
formed by states of a union
where the dissolute and the destitute
sat side by side - Some eating their fill
of themselves, and others rummaging
through garbage bins hungry
for any scraps of attention
