Stumbling around, to open a curtain,
or hand back a skirt, or cardigan,
I feel sick. You have to bend over
frequently (pick up hangers, paper)
And I do bend over frequently, spots
speckling my vision. Maybe you have
a fever, the lights say, and they burn down
extra hot, just to be terrible.
When someone needs a size, I thank some
diety; the chance to escape that god-forsaken fitting room!