She is fourteen, not yet
anything, only known
to her classmates by a twist
to her mouth or nose.
One in particular, a boy,
is fascinated but holds back.
Let us hope he is not
obsessed about beauty.
There is always a fight
between her boy friend
and her best friend –
Parmenides vs. Heraclitus –
Being versus Becoming.
Others in her school
of friends float like fishes.
They too become known,
demonstrate a genius
for fashion, an expertise
on styles just months ago
they called weird, gross.
The Braces sport tattooed waists.
Jeans hang below the equator.
The Platonic Security Guards
note that all we observe
in our universe is change,
ask where permanence,
the true source of happiness,
derives. Newton advises: a body
in planetary motion must remain
in motion, even when it laughs
and sneers. Metal in all the places
makes everything personal –
too much I might have thought,
but perhaps not possible in a mall
where the past, present, and future
of our good earth is fully in play,
where everything on the shelves
seems to be there for no reason
other than it is not yet bought.