The rigors of the day
are upon me. Folks busily
marching to no place, thinking
mission critical, the beautiful
people, perfect and the Wal-Mart
people, perhaps not perfect,
almost Raggedy-Anne-like,
and then the lady with shockingly
white legs that turn so magnetic
when she returns, after the storm
has descended upon us, and finally,
the robiton with short hair and short
skirt, shaking her head, avoiding
the crossing traffic, rush
hour having been so unfairly,
and psychotically hectic
for a Friday.