Slave

Not a trace of guile in her apology
Nay! leaning rather heavily on sincerity
Beseeching eyes and yet flinching
"Am sorry, am sorry for the bottle dear"
She stood repeating

Lady at the till, stood but still
Furtively glancing at the black jacket
Amidst meaningful looks to her colleague
Both recognizing well 'Her types'

Slowly she retreats to the familiar section
Tinned and bottled crimson and gold
Restless hands seek the neck
Ensuing a practiced set of moves
Elixir! Elixir! yes yes!! one more

Enslaved nerves are pining
Ardently sincere
Borrowing this desperateness her
Face contrives another apologetic look
'But, I feel sorry for the loss dear'
Alas reaching the counter keeping the socre

The colleague penetrates her deceit
Like incisors would an overdone meat
One stashed in the ballooning jacket
She removes, in spite the sham interesting
'How much is it? Dont know if i have the money, dear

"Two pounds ninety flicks the digital green
"Dont have enough money dear!"
Two bottles of pity lay bared
One seen by a seasoned eye and
The other by apathetic sympathy

Unabashed steps are watched retiring
"Thud!!" and a cling of the broken shard
The hurry, the urge wins over broken luck
One more leaves the suffocating stink
"Oh! for pity s' sake!!" her nerves give in.

Dadhichi