Pretty Girl

My eye follows the red coat onto the footrest
follows the gray jacket
follows the handmade scarf
follows the leg that sits on my chair
to the hands on the lit-up keyboard,

to the sound of the woman asleep on the chair next to mine
while credits roll down her laptop screen
(she wakes herself up with a snore and a sip of her soda,
masterfully balanced between her face and her shoulder),

to the gray of the ground
to where lines turn to curves, to leather boots
to black pants, curled up, in fetal position
her eyes are wide open
deep brown, the whitest whites,
as her long hair tickles her nose

Where are her eyes going?

Is it to the snow falling outside,
or the ghosts crawling on the carpet?
Is it to the folds on the pants
of the guy sleeping next to her?

She uncurls
her face is more beautiful than i thought at first
but her eyes are still searching

she reaches over and pokes the guy on the face

“don’t you have class right now?”



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