strangers don't even know they're dancing
as she watches them from the dark side
of the glass
in and out
back and forth
the afternoon parking lot ballet
on this side
of the window
she considers hers
the most exquisite opinion
on all matters of choreography
until . . .
suddenly
her thoughts fall
from the pirouette of ego
and it occurs to her that she
was on the other side of the glass
only a few moments before
before she ordered her iced coffee
before she sweetened it with three packets of stevia
before she sat in this chair
and turned herself into
whatever it is she was trying to be
this window doesn't make her different
the glass brings
her and them
together
the things that seperate them
are much less transparent
but far more fragile
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