by Susan Tally
On a landing she stands,
Her tailored suit suggests neutrality
But her full figure fills a row of buttons
like questions on a questionnaire.
Her face has the air of a five star general.
She has turned crevices of acne,
Into medals hard like the pavement.
It was just my luck to choose her up there–
A study of my own passive aggression.
to avoid getting lost in a crowd.
She catches my eye
I’ve lingered too long ,
She sees how rush hour slows me down.
Out from her cannon stare
Flies a caveat,
Which I wear like a neck scarf carefully-
Like the way one must choose one’s battles.
published 12 March 2016