Musings by The Poet Loriet

The Crimson Assassin by Mayfair

132871 Poems Read Home Login	Musings by The Poet Loriet

Sukulilli

Perched on a stool,
I drank my four dollar
mochaccino turtle caramello
demi-latte' with whip cream
and sprinkles on top.

A mall rat in a tattered
denim mini and fire-
engine red flats limped
past "Piercing Pagoda"
while I stirred my drink.

I read, "The Devil Wears Prada"
as I waited for my cell to ring
so I could pay the greasy mechanic
with the scraggly beard, ice blue eyes--
half of my paycheck just
auto-deposited at midnight.

Two girls:
one skinny in an Anne Taylor suit,
the other proportionate in a lab jacket,
approached the counter to order.
I feigned boredom, disinterest...
but I really did wonder if
she was a doctor I knew,
only to realize that she
worked at the Clinique counter
in Famous Barr~and I never
really "got" the whole
lab jacket thing.

An arrogant man--
business suit (sales, I presume),
mobile displayed on his belt
as if an extension of
his impressive manhood,
sauntered and slithered
belly up to the bar
as if a python
ready to strike.

He flirtatiously but not subtly
wondered aloud if they were
a "muffin" or a "bagel"
and had the audacity
to try and guess.

I wanted to approach
and see if he'd venture a guess
knowing he'd be crestfallen
as I pointed at a slice
of lemon poppyseed.

I would have peered
down my nose at him
as I placed my order,
condescending smile
on my crimson lips
as they uttered
one single word:

Bread.

Lori Beal