Pointless by Sara Aykit
She puts on eyeliner the way a sniper shoots
in between heartbeats with the hopes
that a man drops dead.
Some call it
She decorates her fingers with gold and silver rings
her own set of brass knuckles
prettier than clutching keys between fingers
but just as sharp.
We call it
They ask her to smile.
They ask if she’s “Already Taken.”
They don’t ask for her permission.
But tomorrow, they’ll ask what she was wearing.