plate glass window

She spends her time thinking
Of things she needs to buy
She longs for the day when finally
All these things
Will have been bought:

- the jacket (of breathable, expensive fabric)
- the bag (that carries just enough)
- the shoes (that will not fall apart)
- the t-shirt bra (to lift her up)
- the sweater (that will match the bra)
- the spectacles (to frame her face)
- the crockery (that flatters food)
- the cutlery (to match the plates)
- the stationery (that helps her learn)
- the lampshades (that will set the mood)
- the white-goods (that will save her time)
- the product (for her fickle hair)
- the pantyhose (that do not ladder)
- the face creams (to insure for later)
- the vitamins (to keep her young)
- the perfume (that is not generic)
- the music (that can soothe her nerves)
- the books (that promise everything)

She works a lot.

She looks at herself
Sidelong in mirrors
In any reflective surface she finds
The Myer windows, automatic doors
Or the shiny, plasmic, tinted walls
Of corporate quarters,
At lunch time.
She inspects the line of her profiled body
The bumps, the curves,
The bulges, the bulk
Smoothing down the folds of clothing
With a disappointed, sulky stare
Roving the length of visual specimen
Faithfully replicated there.
Her brow is gouged and drawn in hard
Concentrated between the eyes
By thoughts disloyal and distorted
Threatening greater deprivation
To cut her down to size:

- Sleep (because she jogs at six)
- Breakfast (because it’s one less meal)
- Restaurants (because people watch)
- Lovers (because they’d make her feel)

She is very disciplined.