9.2
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She studied the mirror in the bathroom,
the car, and her compact a hundred times
a day, but now she didn't have to cringe.
From purple, to green, to a sickly yellow,
it was barely visible. At least on her face.
For days it took the glasses of a blind man
to hide behind, but just a little make-up
and the barely tinted designer shades
did the trick.
When her boss railed at no one in particular
about sloppy paperwork, her heart pounded as
though she was personally responsible.
She kept excusing herself as though she was
an interloper in the world by just being there.
When the parking lot attendant complained
that she had no money for a tip, she cried.
The cop that stopped her on the way home
was sure she had committed murder - she was
too apologetic for the five miles over.
Dinner was ruined as she tried to keep it
warm, and dreaded what she'd face when at
midnight he came home and it wasn't fit to eat.
She tried to look extra pretty as a pacifier
that might stop a train. But it didn't.
Tomorrow she'd have to go back to the blind
man's glasses. Someday, she was going to
throw them away.
But then she always said that, and never did.
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