or maybe a flashback to
her younger years –
she bypasses her usual safe mall clothing store
for the innest of the in boutiques.
The music blares songs she’s never
heard before, wispy female vocals
over jackhammer beats.
And the other customers are half her age,
barely out of their teens most of them
and, in the dressing room,
she overhears conversations
about parties on the East Side
and something called “ecstasy.”
She struggles to fit into a pair of jeans
but her belly’s uncooperative
and the zipper fights in vain
to turn back the years.
Thankfully, one of the help,
a girl dressed all in black,
leads her, like a mother with her child,
toward a small stack of a style called “easy fit.”
She makes a purchase without even trying it on.
Later, she sits at the coffee shop,
sipping a latte,
while her latest acquisition
rests on the chair beside her,
with the logo showing proudly.
Awkward, out of place,
a great risk to her self-esteem,
and yet, as that shopping bag proclaims,
she did it.
If anyone were to ask,
she’d tell them, really,
it was an easy fit.
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident. He has been published New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Big Muddy Review, Louisiana Review, Cape Rock, and Spoon River Poetry Review.