The woman dressed in a brown overcoat

sits with two other women
next to her
each with cake
attached to fork

the cake is lifted up
by the arched wrist
a spooning hand
glides bliss into mouth

a ripple of happiness
spreads over countenances
until smile can arch no further
towards her eyes, a pause away from

the caressing limbs of love
which stroke her
and comfort her
by leaving evidence of care
on her already scorched arm
he tickles her with his fingers
scratching lines of possession
on her cage-like back

she sits at a table
of the coffee shop
next to where
her office stands erect

the cup is wrapped
by the diligent fingers
that type 100 words
per the 5-yuan minute



she takes a sip
from the warm ocean
of coffee which will
eventually drain into rivers

then give warmth
to the deep dark
cave of production
which she struggles
to protect from
the prodding power
of the boss which
refuse rejection

she sits on the chair
which the craftsmen
of society have
especially prepared for her

her body is stationed upright
with her head held tall
trying to overlook
the daily invasions

from loving limbs accusing
infidelity, allowing men
to enter as they please
from society looking
on her as easy, not refusing
none sit attentively
as the two women
to offer her a bite of bliss