I see her on the train, on those few mornings each week when I must take this route; she always with a tight white blouse, partly covered by a black jacket, her skirt varying each trip in color not in length, so her legs always look exposed, her face decorated in dark eyeshadow and glistening pink lipstick, her long fingers with long pink painted nails, gripping her cell phone though from time to time her gaze rises over it, to survey the car full of commuter, pausing when she sees someone interesting, perhaps pondering what it might be like to meet these people under different circumstances, and maybe she has, some mornings her face flushed to suggest she has already started, and not stopped especially on the Monday after the weekend when she is still recovering from it all
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