The Pi Beta Phi sisters talk above my ear
whispering and I cannot imagine what is worse
hearing low muttered chat or hearing it at full speed
full volume
their bags, colored, their shorts
uniformed like school children
black and blue, a variation of what's in their words:
mud and sky
muttered hand gestures, waved
in blonde hair that's been bleached
by a desire to stand out while still
looking the same: a carbon copy of a model
a boy's candy, with sugar and spice
and everything nice. The sugar Brazilian,
the spice, Indian, the something nice
local with a crop top and a faded out jean short
The Pi Beta Phi sisters
laugh, swearing on secrets ones will be broken
at library door, for a number, a pretty face
or a set of eyes that promise a hot plate at the end of the day
I do not know the Beta sisters'
secret but I know that no matter
how loud or low their voice is
their library conversations does not concern me, at all.
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