My boss says, Go home.
I wait, office door closed,
think to phone friends, don’t.
My window looks on sky-
scrapers wreathed in fog.
I put on my hat, coat, and gloves,
and leave.
I roam the Loop
and wander into Marshall Fields.
This year’s
summer fashion features
Hawaiian prints,
shocking pinks and purples.
The dressing room mirror
is a parallel universe,
my reflection a stranger
in a flowered muumuu.
The smiling sales associate
asks me where I’m going,
remarks on what a relaxing trip
I’m going to have.
I buy four shopping bags
full of fuchsia frippery,
sleeveless dresses,
frou-frou swim suits,
Who cares, spend it all.
The world has come to an end.