Rolled flat by a Dunbar Armored transport,
her blood pools with the non-fat, triple shot, mocha — double whip
that seconds before had been cupped in her imperfectly manicured fingers.
She’d spent much of the pre-dawn hours
in Reverse Warrior, Half Moon, and Downward Dog.
Cell phone in reach on the double-sink, ash, vanity,
she’d tweeted with frustration and self-deprecating humor
about a blemish emerging on her chin.
Cellulite nearly indistinguishable through her yoga pants
and breathable fabric, aqua and pink, sports top with the built-in bra,
she’d slipped on her flip-flops and drove to Starbucks
after dropping off the promised princess cupcakes at her daughter’s school.
Here, in front of the Game Stop,
witnessed by the child walking out the door of Cold Stone Creamery
whose tongue remains extended, fixed, toward his cookies-and-cream-with-extra-cookies cone,
© Julie Ayers
April 2012 – NaPoWriMo 14