Alexandra Huynh Poems

Welcome to the nail salon. Our service never fails. Bring your business and we promise to leave you with fine nails.
Allow me to take you around. I may not work here but I have witnessed it. Seeing how my mother's fingerprints have been worn away in acetone in exchange for your pristine hands that look like they've never done a day's work but that's how you like it.
Leave the dirty work for the cleaning ladies; they already fling around broken China with their tongues, ought to learn how to pick up after themselves. It sounds foreign, so assume the worst, and sit satiated knowing their living sits comfortably in your purse.
Here they are, take your pick of nail color and watch as they handle your hands like they tend to God himself. Construct temples out of rhinestone and powdered stardust and whatever else you selected from that colossal shelf that spans the walls of the salon and says, "Pick color, I make happen. Pick color, I make beautiful."
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