Vanity invades me the most
Trivial ways conceivable:
As I crank up the classical
At the taco pick-up window
The daft thought dancing through my head
Is that this makes me impressive,
And it's important to impress
The limp-fingered, pimply teller
Who no doubt must suffer endless
Encounters with country music
And teenaged top-twenty twaddle
Bumping from customers' speakers
As they pull up to her window.
How nice for her to hear Schubert,
How pleasantly she'll recall me
Next time I pick up my taco.
My reverie's interrupted
By shadows scrawling on the wall
Just below the teller's elbow.
A daddy long legs in the sun
Crawls toward opportunities
I can only guess at, maybe
To mate another harvestman
Or to eat a bit of taco.
The teller doesn't notice it.
Its shadow lengthens grotesquely,
Long as the claw of a vampire,
Sliding over the windowsill,
Such a grisly melodrama
From such a harmless little thing
I think, pleased now with my vision
Of life as a bug in the sun.