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The Pink Ghetto

She types and collates,
Answers and directs calls.
To the observer, that’s all she does,
But her coworkers know better.
As they stand by the proverbial water cooler
Her stiletto heels sound on the linoleum floor.
They scatter to observe from afar.
They envy her accursed beauty,
Yet look at her with scorn.
His booming intercom summons her at 10 AM,
Just like clockwork.
She needs her salary, but her pride’s important too.
She had told her herself today is the day
This time she’ll say no.
But as it is with many a dream,
The dollar signs get in the way.
The Secretary:
It’s young as the typewriter
But feels like the world’s oldest profession.





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