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?