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Nova B. Williamson

United States

Unconventional

April 17, 2019

she sits on the worn bridge railing,
    her feet without shoes
 and her hair astray,
       the breeze withers around her carrying the remains of a crisp fall day,
                    the town records-keeper observes the girl,
a sight so bizarre to his virgin eyes,
                            his suit is pressed perfectly to his toned body,
the leather of his shoes polished and primed leaving stiff footprints across the grass,
                        a day’s work rests securely in his briefcase,
                                a trophy to prove his satisfaction,
the girl has weeds tangled in her long mane,
    soft dirt is dusted along the palms of her hands showing her carelessness,
                    her image completely dumbfounds the records-keeper,
                        curiosity is stronger than his weariness,
‘miss, why are out here looking so unpolished and dirty? you should be in a cubicle contributing to the society.’
the girl of the earth turns to him with a sympathetic smile carved into her face,
‘dear sir, why are you so polished and stiff? are you doing what you could or what you should?’
            a voice of silk speaking words of knives,
the records-keeper has trails of confusion engraved into his forehead,
with tender pity the girl takes his smooth hand in hers,
     the scars, calluses, and dirt of her hand contaminating the purity of his,
‘sir, you do not realize it, but you are society.’
                            the records-keeper pulls away,
‘how absurd! one man cannot hold society on his shoulders!’
the galaxies glisten in her eyes,
         a billion stars so eagerly burning,
‘no, society must be able to accept one man.’
she drops his hand and returns her attention toward the fields before her,
                    the records-keeper turns angrily and leaves the girl on the bridge,
            a pale crimson twilight wraps around her silhouette as he walks away,
the residue of the girl on his hand is all that remains in the morning
when he enters his cubicle to fill yet another briefcase.
 

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  • April 17, 2019 - 8:33am (Now Viewing)

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