deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Purse.

He found her, two feet in the air,
head in the bargain bucket back row.
Those soft, hazel eyes,
a cupids bow for lips,
she didn't notice.
Dismissing his attentions,
she took her new, well second-hand, yellow scarf to the till,
no man should tag along behind.
She stared at him, with her watery green eyes,
they occasionally became blue.
'Do you intend to annoy me?
Is it your intention to be a fly?'
Quite offended by the comment the man attempted to speak,
hands trembling,
teeth chattering,
it was his first attempt at anything like this.
He swept that beautiful, chocolate hair to one side.
'Speak, boy.' She hissed, her own violet curls, shaking out against the paleness of her face.
'I just wanted to tell you, you dropped your purse.'
'Oh, thank you.'
Her cheeks turned red, her thoughts ashamed,
so bitter and dismissive,
so assuming and snobbish,
all because she didn't want to be seen at the bargain bucket in a charity shop,
by a 6"2 beauty.