the sales girl
glows with earnestness
and lets me know
that im an
hourglass.
pardon me?
i wonder how this tender
sapling found the
cheek
to wind her
barb.
she means the
shape of course and not the
time
but bit by bit i feel the pieces drop away.
would a
handstand stem the
slide?
should i
bear these
hips at shoulder height,
become a
clown as well as a matron?
im the egg and not the
timer
but something in the green of her eyes tells me im already
overdone.
boiled this hard who needs a shell?