Written by R. Jay Hoffman
The public clerk looks like a vase
Of plastic flowers, fluttering into place
A painted hen taking her spot on the roost
A wilting funeral bouquet
Decorating the absence of life
She has no knees, and her ankles
And calves are fused
She is almost gothic-fair, skin bleached with
Pampered aging, early 1970s hairstyle
Big earlobes showing, earrings dangling
Like a queen on display, she flaunts her service
With a wide-ranging need to hear her own voice
“Can I help you?”
Her words bounce off my face
Searching for validation,
She assigns me motives
Categorizes me
Now she is ready for battle
I only need a copy
They are closing in five minutes
Could you still accommodate?
You people!
She actually said that, “You People!”
Text © R. Jay Hoffman
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