She keeps a little shop and sells trivialaries with common conversation.
Its a little known secret her eyes are barley a hint of her depth as she sips
maroon wine in lonely seclusion. When asked who he is he simply recites his job description. And she sizes him up and asks ‘Why me’. The corks pop and the blond parade of barbie boobs and forced sigh’s reveal its all a farce.
Then she realizes, ‘I’m from Vermont’.

Filed under: Poem