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One Tired Moment



The camera, at the time, was a heavy instrument
And the film in canisters and the strap polishing his shoulder
She'd been working for four hours, standing
Resting a hip against the silver-cornered cabinet,
Smoothing out her skirt, smiling, waiting out shoppers
Daydreaming about the lights, dimming then brimming
Spilling on her, soaking her with the ephemera 
Of burning gas, transforming her clothes into dancewear. 
The music shifts, rises. The customers sink to audience.
But that was earlier. This is her break, she's just offstage,
Grateful for the dimness near the wall. 
She hides her nametag under her silky bowtie. 
It's just fifteen minutes. Time enough to stroll, have a soda. 
He's been setting up. Looking for empty displays.
He catches the lights on her jewelry barge, 
Becalmed in the middle of the mall's hallway
Lit up for midway or Mississippi, full of silver.
She's just a little further on, 
one tired moment in the darkness of the shot.

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