Scales Of Injustice

Once they stood mocking her
in the pink bathroom,
silent, challenging.
She’d pretend indifference;
sometimes she fancied
she heard them whisper,
“come on then, step up .”
Often she obeyed,
they would sman and groan
while she yelled, “liars!”

The bathroom is beige these days,
but still they stand watching, furtive;
daring her to ask them.
Only now she knows their reaction
would barely register;
their conclusion obvious
as the flesh loosens
and hangs about her bones.
A wry smile touches her pale lips
at such a cruel irony.