She was in front of me but
separated by her job.
She walked up and down the congealed
floor beneath her,
holding chilled bottles in her hands and
pouring their contents into glasses
for the slowly deteriorating mutes.
She was small, but commanded authority
like the most caring of leaders.
Her hair was dyed a hazelnut red and
had been slightly curled at the bottom.
Peacefully, it fell over her shoulders
and glistened in the white lights above, as
the moisture in the air hugged her.
She came over to me and smiled.
Her teeth were marked with smudges of red lip stick,
and her fake eyelashes were parting at the edges,
as the glue failed in its duty.
Her face was round and displayed a small, alluring
The smoothness of her skin was real and frightening.
It covered her in blinding blankets of sincerity,
that shone in the sewage around us.
The music was deafening and the bass
shook my insides,
perpetuating my new found childhood nerves.
I asked for a drink, but she couldn’t hear.
I moved closer to her and raised the volume
of my order in her ear.
It was probably the closest I would ever get.
She nodded and said, “Okay.”
She quickly turned and walked over to the fridge.
I gathered what little change I had left,
placed it on the counter
and watched her walk back over.
She wasn’t beautiful because beauty’s ideas
are man made.
She wasn’t vain because vanity is the medicine
of the diseased.
She wasn’t hollow because life hadn’t got to her
She was simply-
Anthony Keers lives in the city of Manchester, England. His inspiration tends to come from his own thoughts and the people around him. He tends to focus on the negative and the humorous, such as issues in relationships, families, money, and anything else that he finds interesting.