perfect

measured figure

smooth ageless skin

manicured nails

slim waist

eyes so sharp

see nothing

ears so good

hears none

the lips

never move

hands flailed

looking macabre

stacked up one on another

a pile of posteriors

butt heading one another

awaiting sermons

some postures

some standing up

some warm cloth

in this cold weather

lifeless yet living

they in the changing rooms

and them nearby piled up

just piled up

a single grey hand reached out

not a cry, not a tear

just a chiseled hand

polished nails

‘I would never want your place

mine is none the better, still’

the girl said

a thud was heard

that was it.