Silence. pursed lips of this
steely-eyed woman, mouth turning down at the corners,
there's lipstick on her teeth, how becoming.
is it petty that I cannot get past the tortoise shell glasses
the nails-on-chalkboard drone (an impossibility!), the thick cake-like
powder on her nose? am I empty in this sense of
seeing into (and through) people, that their make-up, their mask
and what they seem to be, blocks me from peering into
their souls (if possessed) and instead leaves me with only
hasty and stereotypical assumptions?