The house was filled with the smell of perfume. She had just received a delivery And now she had spread out all the perfume and soap, Sorting out orders. She had been an Avon Lady in rural Indiana for years, A hard worker, with bonuses for her proficient sales. I'd hear her every so often Making snide remarks about her migrant worker clients, That they were dirt poor And how inappropriate it was for them to be buying cosmetics. But she made a lot of money from them. Maybe her remarks were coming from her conscience.
©2011, John A. Mills