Holly Van Leuven
As if summoned by a spell,
Forty thousand suits swoop down
Capitol Hill and glide home along
VA-267E, stopping first in Coach, Escada,
Neiman-Marcus. White receipt tape
And glossy bags like wispy kisses
Promise “I will make you whole.”
Like young lovers, the suits believe them.
Like young lovers, except with
Puffy eyes and pasty complexions.
While their spouses slumber
In fashion-forged mansions, they
Stay downstairs with the thrumming
Of the central air conditioning, sucking
In the blue light of the television.