the hipster clerk

it shouldn't bother you,
it's none of your business
and you don't want to be
judgmental, and yet, you
want to say out loud, why,
to the middle aged woman
ringing up your groceries
who has a fishing lure
hanging from her lip.
a straight pin through
her eyebrow, and a ring
in her nose like a rodeo
bull. you don't even see
the fresco of tattoos
that ink her body, arms
and legs, her neck.
you ignore the streaks
of blue in her hair.
the hardware glistens
upon her face. she looks
as if she fell into
a tackle box. you want
to ask why, or what were
you thinking. does it hurt?
what happens when you sneeze
or have a cold.
do you ever snag a sweater
when pulling it over
your head?
but you say nothing
as she bags your milk
and bread, your tuna
cans, your bag of red
potatoes.