Through The Window

she is running late,
but still she dashes into
the bathroom to catch a
quick shower.
The phone rings,
she answers it with soapy hands
leaving soap bubbles on the motorola handset.

He has arrived announces
the invisible voice,
through the mobile phone.

She has only 10 minutes to
finish grooming herself.
With much expertise,
she applies some sweet scented lotion
all over her body.

With equally as much
expertise she slithers herself shut into a
pair of jeans that would have been adequate for someone
two sizes smaller than her.

she wins the victory
then starts to button up her also
tight fitting top,
that leaves her cleavage looking like two oversized
tennis balls.
if you look closely you can actually see her heart beating.

Now she begins to plaster her face
with some cheap cosmetics.
And drawing lines where her eyebrows once where with a crayon
meant for the eyes.
Then with enormous agility
she runs a comb through her
synthetic hairdo,
which is red and black streaked.

Again her phone rings, as if
threatening her to come down the
stairs at once.
Hurried and assuring words are poured through the cellular
phone mouthpiece and then she hangs up.

This time really putting an effort
to hurry up.
she puts on huge dangling earrings
and high stilettos.

Then marinates and gauzes herself in a deodorant
before stealing a glance at herself in the mirror for the last
time that night.

She leaves her hostel after grabbing
her purse full of contraceptives
and emerges into the dark campus night
to meet the old man behind the steering wheel of the mercedes,
with wrinkled hands that tell a story beginning from long ago.

by rue moyo

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