I hear them when I hide in the bathroom.
They come in between classes,
loose sneakers thumping,
flip-flops shuffling,
high-heels clicking.
They chatter about senseless things,
gossiping in staged whispers,
squealing like pigs,
giggling - "Huh-huh huh-huh huh-huh"
Beasts of conformity, slaves of fashion,
the "It" girls, golden skeletons
in skin-tight jeans, micro-minis,
teensy t-shirts cut to show
their premature breasts.
They don't see me there, or if they do,
they certainly don't acknowledge my presence;
for I am the lowest of the low:
a bathroom-hider.