The pretty girl behind the counter is smiling
as I hand over the items-- a T-shirt,
a pair of shoes. She is joking with me
as all good cashiers do.
'I've always loved Indian movies', she says.
I resist rolling my eyes and nod anyway.
'Pakistan', I correct her without meaning to
and she looks away.
She folds the shirt, slides it in the paper
bag and hands it over.
She nods, dismissing me but
I step behind the counter, becoming
a girl with blonde hair, blue eyes
a tight cap trapping my curls.
I imagine what she thinks,
her imagination taking off, flying,
soaring in the sky.
Myself a looming presence,
great and tall
standing in her way.
A tower
in which her imagination will
crash,
crippling us
both.
-
Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 14th, 2026 04:52
- Comment from author about the poem: Pleased to share that this poem has been featured on the New Contexts: 8 Anthology Feel free to check it out on the CoverStory Books, or order it from their website: https://new-contexts.com/
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, DeadRose, Kora
Offline)
Comments6
It is embarrassing how ignorant we all are of other cultures and even geography. What is not in our immediate vision does not exist. A great write of such so personal and real in its life humor. Well done
Thank you Soren Barrett for you comment and read, it is msot valued
You are most welcome
Sharp and unsettling—identity colliding with perception in tight, tense lines.
The grit cuts deep, exposing the quiet violence of assumption and mis-seeing.
Thank you for the thoughtful read and interpretation
Abdullah… this carries a quiet, sharp tension…that shift in perspective turns a small moment into something much deeper. It doesn’t need to say much to land, and it stays with you. Powerful, thoughtful piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Glad you liked it Tristan. Thank you for your ongoing support
You know the French (light of the universe ! ) treat the Belgians like family members with a mental disability .but we play along !
Hahaha.... I suppose it's a universal custom to do so with your neighbors
Thank you for the read
Excellent!
Thank you Katie, I appreciate it
This happens often. A person is not speaking to you, but to the image of you in their own mind. An illusion of control, labels, and all that. At least in this clash there is a heart. Perhaps these things need to truly break apart, exposing the hearts underneath. Cool.
Thank you for your comment and interpreation, you are completely right.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.