pisces, pisces rising

I’m at The Friendly Inn giving my feet a rest after standing for sculpture. Young animators moulded me in maquettes on figure irons as I turned. To see them pinch my breasts and smooth my thighs into shape I averted my gaze embarrassed. It was the older sculptress who got my shoulders right and then I recognised me.
How my feet were strained – sometimes clamping into contorted distortion, I knocked them back into shape periodically.
One young man clearly saw something else in me; he shaped horns on my head and a long curly tail. I smiled knowingly and later he shyly removed the extras.
I’m dining alone conversing with myself as I warm up. Images of horses in motion abound in this restaurant, maybe that’s why I’m eating so fast. The last tiger year has been an upheaval, and the purring cat albeit metal feels welcome.
80s music pipes me into a dream fit to carry me home on two wheels through a very cold night. I use my robe as a scarf to keep warmth in and the smile on my face.

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