As I make my way across the grand expanse of this country
I am plagued by parasites trying to sell me beautiful
Look here, they say, and I will sell you beautiful
Purses and wallets of the finest material
And I turn my head away in shame.
But as soon as I do, I am accosted by another,
A seller of transient security claiming he will sell me beautiful
Skin and hair and tooth and nail
Again, I turn my head in shame.
Subsequently, I feel a touch upon my shoulder
I feel rage and shout
“Who are you, who are you to tell me you will sell me beautiful?”
I turn and gaze down at a weathered old woman
Who removes a mirror from her pocket and places it in my hand
“Beautiful is your gift. I will not try and sell you beautiful.”
I wept for future generations.
