she is there, i can see her, her gaze
transfixed, fingers curled and knotted
around glass and metal, belie her
presence. her forlorn children give
sorrow-filled glances longing for
approval,or even just a sign that she knows
they are there. each tap of her finger
on the glass releases a slow drip
of dopamine into her cerebral cortex
and numbs her senses, blocks out the noise
and clamour and yearning of small hands.
read it. like it. pin it. tweet it.
tap tap tap.