In The Department Store

By T. S. Eliot

The lady of the porcelain department
Smiles at the world through a set of false teeth.
She is business-like and keeps a pencil in her hair

But behind her sharpened eyes take flight
The summer evenings in the park
And heated nights in second story dance halls.

Man’s life is powerless and brief and dark
It is not possible for me to make her happy.

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