by Stella Robbins

Two doors down,
past the antique store
but before the florist,
in the watch repair
and jewelry shop,
sits a little lady
on a velvet-covered chair,
minding her manners,
ready to flutter
to her full height,
her ninety pounds
and beatific smile
whenever a customer
bings the bell.

Otherwise, she sleeps,
a little teapot
on a velvet-covered shelf.