Floor Pull

Dropped my lipstick, bright red, cheap

from the drug store. Saw it fall

in the gas station bathroom.

It rolled, an insolent, crimson cylinder,

under the sink, into the dark,

damp corner where the grime collects.

The floor, sticky, probably worse

than I wanted to imagine. But it lay there.

And I just watched it, for a second too long.

Too heavy. To bend, to reach. Too tired

to care about stained knees or a missing lid.

Just watched it sit, pulled down.

Like everything else.