Abandon

And we can pretend that nobody's been here

for centuries, that the walls are crumbling

I can see through the yellow hall

where the light pours in through the grunge

in the windows high above and filters through the dust,

sickly yellow light glimmers so gently off the uncleaned floor.

There is a stain, small, dark

on the desk, small desk

in the center of the yellow hall.

Beside the desk on the cold floor

is an unfinished pair of panties

grimiest rag I've ever seen

can't even believe someone worked here

her face not yet tarnished by old age

but surely heading for it, her long brown hair

slick with sweat, strong, wrinkled hands vicefully gripping the replacement spool;

she who worked at the speed of

five pairs of panties per minute (ppm.),

sewed her thumb, once, focus, twice,

come on, concentrate, thrice

and she was given the shaft.

Her tearful legacy lost

left only a stain

bits of thumb

and pain.

We can pretend

the funny lookin' dude behind the counter

says, "Your total is $19.45."

Isn't this what you wanted?

Lingerie at its best.