Someone will happen upon it,
next to the mouse trap.
By then, the dust of hours passed
would drench its identity,
a commercial brush...
Purchased by an Iraqi-American
or American-Iraqi -whichever convenient,
accompanied by a British-Iraqi -indefinitely,
at some 'capitalist' mall,
where the lures of 'fantasy feminism'
were at play.
They will happen upon it,
next to the trash can,
and wonder,
who chose to brush their mind away
during laborious empty days of
deep thought?
Who decided to void
their gender,
their identity,
for pennies on the dollar,
in this promised new life?
They will question;
the taste acquired,
the judgement,
the quality assessed,
and the final
decision...
to discard a plastic
"Vicky C's" brush
under a
work desk
at a law firm,
....
and leave it
untouched,
contaminated by
rat dung,
that at some point
had launched
centuries of war-triggered O.C.D.
in one single second.
