Conscience blares from her iPod
like a sermon for the opt-out generation.
She just ignores it, preferring to concentrate
on smearing lies across her lips.
Wipe it off,
wipe your hand across your mouth
and laugh.
‘You are not
deemed worthy of such things’
the face in the puddle says,
‘The world revolves around ancient women
gathering fuel in parking lots,
not premature marionettes
still carving out their identity
in steel and concrete.’
