Next Station

20:18

Across the train carriage,
The lady sat,
Legs crossed,
The gleaming leather of her pointy-toed shoes scattering light.

Squinting into her handheld mirror, her lips
Turned down into a slight frown
She gingerly dabbed at the palette, smudging
Turquoise over her eyelids.

Her fingers fluttered around, smoothing
Non-existent wrinkles, invisible creases
Pursing her lips, as if blowing air kisses, she sent
Tiny specks of rainbow-coloured powder dancing
through the air, caught by the train's draft
Swirling, twirling, whirling.

Next station, Buona Vista.
She gave her mirrored self one last fleeting glance
Tucked it into her matte leather handbag, and strode out
Leaving trails of vivid dust in her wake
Swirling, twirling, whirling

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