there were no security cameras in those days
just the bewhiskered storeowner's meandering eye
it took fast fingers and nonchalant pocket coats
to make a living in those sepia–toned days
well he had watched her enter. and he knew
she had real business– more of a serious nature
heck, most kids, gray dull like sharks, watched with
wild eyes and puckered mouths at lipstick–colored candies,
and their dreams were as sweet and as brief as jelly beans.
she didn't really, of course, and she didn't want it for a career,
but in order to soothe her papercut heart she
marched with head high past those clean, crisp notebooks–
luscious ballpoint pens– and the flowery stationary
and the rose–pink erasers and school–bus yellow hexagon sticks–
when the rejection slip had come the day before
she couldn't fathom it, really
only instead to remember and caress the
flavor wafting out of her freshly inked words on the page–
a boy and a girl, a rose garden; a prick from a thorn; death. and every day Charlotte walked to his grave in a blushing silk
meanwhile he scratched his 5 o'clock shadow, engrossed in the Sports Section
flurry of movement floundered through the doors, to which
an old dog barked at its fleeing guilty shadow
when she got home
all the brilliant strands–bleeding scarlet–
had unraveled limp in her pocket.
mother in the kitchen, humming
"dearie–that envelope you got? misaddressed–
did you cut yourself?"
daisy dazed, and all her petals shaken to stern earth beneath
there were no security camerasin those days
just the bewhiskered storeowner's lazy eye
it took fast fingers and nonchalant pocket coats
to make a living in those sepia–toned days.
and their dreams were as sweet and as brief as jelly beans.
she didn't really, of course, and she didn't want it for a career,
luscious ballpoint pens