Monday, October 20, 2008: On the Street...Wrapped, Paris

I can’t leave the house without putting on my face,
Veronica used to say.
She meant her make-up. She’d grab her purple case,
unpack a dazzling array
of powders, vials, lotions. Red and pink
and green were lurking just
beneath the lids, like bloodshot eyes. Our sink
was coated in flesh-coloured dust.