St. Moritz

Saint Moritz, by Tamara de Lempicka

She pauses in her work
the man is staring.
Breathing through his mouth.
Yellow,
uneven teeth.

His breath smells of carrion,
rancid and dead.

She freezes in place.

He’s horrible.

Flamboyantly, yet tastelessly dressed,
a garish plaid waistcoat
an olive drab sports jacket.
Pomaded hair with a thick crust like a tortoise’s shell.

Uneven splotches of beard testify to a recent unfamiliarity
with a razor.
Eyebrows so long they are worn slicked back,
pointing towards his ears.

His ears,
wide,
sprouting tufts. Hair growing like rye grass – proud
and long.

Drop the broom, she thinks
RUN, but she’s unable to move.
Not unlike a deer in headlights she can only stare.
With each passing second her eyes grow wider.

A soft mewling sound rises from her throat
as she whimpers in fear.

Is this it then?
Is this how it ends? In fear?

When her bladder releases; the warmth gives her purchase
awakens her.
She pivots on the ball of her foot,
like a dancer.
The broom falls unnoticed into the snow.

She begins to run.
away from his outstretched hand.
His hand that clasps only air. Not today…
Not today.


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