Weekly poem

Plucking to Kill Time


So I’m waiting at the stoplight
at the corner of Marine and Sepulveda
and just happened to glance over at the car
in the lane to my left.
The car was like my husband’s, a gray Toyota Camry,
but that’s where any similarities stopped.
Inside was a lady in the driver’s seat
busily scrunching her chin from side to side
and up and down
and contorting her mouth every which way
as she peered into the sunshade mirror
and plucked out her chin hairs.
Her readers hung low on her nose
while her fingers and those tweezers moved
around her chin a mile a minute.
I was fascinated. I couldn’t help myself.
I kept looking over until the light changed
and she took off her glasses,
set her tweezers aside,
moved the shade out of her way,
and drove North with the rest of us.