Capitalism Ritual

The boutique owner
pulled from racks
variations on the same
pricey and shapeless dress
and as I tried them on
she whispered into the fitting room,
“I wanted to burn everything I wore
the next day,” and let me go
into the cheap cold night
to borrow a t-shirt and skirt
from someone’s giveaway
pile. I was rehearsing
the ritual of shedding and
casting off, to the underworld
and to the developing. “She who keeps
a dress perfectly suited to the burial
of the mother, will never break down
behind a curtain” should be a
proverb.

Later I walked through any store
and bought the first thing
I saw. It’ll change your life
the sales associate said, as she rubbed
the $40 cream into the back
of my hand. It just sinks
into the skin.