Just let me grab my keys
and I'll be on my way.
When I arrive,
I'll just use my reflection
in the storefront window
to make sure I look human enough:
pressed slacks;
inherited loafers;
compression garments
underneath the fanfare--
the overt performance and
exaggerated presentation, i.e.
Urban Decay on my teeth.
I'll shove my keys into my pocket,
look for you in a crowded room.
Maybe you'll flag me down.
Maybe your cool, sweaty palm
will meet mine in an awkward shake,
like we are striking an unspoken deal:
I'll promise to be polite,
if you promise not to kill me.
Note: Inspired by a friend's true story, recounted and embellished with her permission.
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