Misdemeanors

There's a new girl
who does
community service
at the thrift store
near my house.
She is a beauty:
blue eyes,
blonde hair
and high cheek bones.
I often wonder
how she got in trouble.
Was it drugs?
Theft?
Vandalism?
I see her
put away ornaments
the next aisle over.
Her hands are
delicate,
like a mannequin.
She walks past me
to the back
of the store.
I start to leave
and wander by
an old woman
pulling a cart
up to the counter.
I sigh, thinking
of how often
I come here.
The blonde and I
are both
prisoners
of this
ancient store front
in this
empty town.