She is
black stilletoes,
starched white blouse
two buttons open,
more than a hint
of the high school prefect.
Beginnings unfold
like snow white envelopes
and in the massed ranks
of empty screens
she shuffles papers
like tarot cards
In a solitary pause
near the gurgles
and gossip
of the water cooler,
heads turn
as heads always turn
and small pincers
of laughter
gnaw the roots
of self-esteem.
In the office bedlam
her dress rages
at the greys,
the worn beiges of nearly 10am.
With defiant footsteps
and a razored smile,
she moves like
the sound of tears.
