Phone Shop

Phone Shop

 

She clicks a tiny screen

A shellac woodpecker on iridized glass

Her eyes indifferent, the moves determined

How can we bother her? She has no choice

We have since we know what we want

Café latte in a wide bow, not tipped, clipped

A step dance over distant webs, marginalized

I want to connect, yet in the meantime, rushed

My nails grow wild and strong as ever

 

22nd Of July 2014

©By Andrea Connolly

 

Shortlisted on writing.ie for the month of July 2014,

Revisited September 2014

 

 

 

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