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“Aren't you a darling?”
An old lady coos,
As she chooses between
Granny smith and gala.
In the cart next to her,
A little girl sits attentively,
Her hair tied high in a big pink bow
And her eyes, smiling,
“You'll be president of the class, won't you?”
Continues the lady,
While inspecting a plump apple for bruises,
“And head cheerleader, too,”
She declares, rejecting the apple with a decided drop,
The little girl watches its descent back into the barrel,
Hears the sickening thud,
And she quivers, just a little.
“And look at those curls!”
Exclaims the lady,
As she moves on to the tangerines,
“You'll be prom queen, I'm sure,”
Remarks the lady,
As she selects the orangest tangerine,
And drops it in the cart with a decided nod,
“You've got yourself a bright future,
don't you, darling?”
And the girl looks to her toes uncertainly,
But before she can say a thing,
The lady has already disappeared in the swarm of shoppers,
But what is expected still remains,
With the once carefree little girl.





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