the sales girl glows with earnestness
and lets me know
that im an hourglass.
pardon me?
i wonder how this tender sapling found the cheek
to wind her barb.
she means the shape of course and not the time
but bit by bit i feel the pieces drop away.
would a handstand stem the slide?
should i bear these hips at shoulder height,
become a clown as well as a matron?
im the egg and not the timer
but something in the green of her eyes tells me im already overdone.
boiled this hard who needs a shell?