where the writers are
Plucking to Kill Time


So I'm waiting at the stoplight

at the corner of Marine and Sepulveda

and just happened to glance over at the car

in the lane to my left.

The car was like my husband's, a gray Toyota Camry,

but that's where any similarities stopped.

Inside was a lady in the driver's seat

busily scrunching her chin from side to side

and up and down

and contorting her mouth every which way

as she peered into the sunshade mirror

and plucked out her chin hairs.

Her readers hung low on her nose

while her fingers and those tweezers moved

around her chin a mile a minute.

I was fascinated. I couldn't help myself.

I kept looking over until the light changed

and she took off her glasses,

set her tweezers aside,

moved the shade out of her way,

and drove North with the rest of us.