She bit into the green apple with perfect white teeth

Is her hair really that shade of red? I suspend disbelief

Smartly dressed she stands there all of the day

Kitchens, selling them to anyone, to earn her pay

She sees all life going on, standing, smiling next to her display

She must have heard it all, chatted up in every possible way

Managing to look like the kitchens she sells really matter

As the mall cleaning woman stops by for a friendly natter

Caught off guard, just this once, stepping away from duty

Eating her apple, leant against a pillar, flame haired beauty

 

Copyright Dean Fraser - The Quantum Poet

www.deanfrasercentral.com