Banking Hall
The queue has moved
Am at the counter now,
I hand over my stash of cash.
“good morning” she says,
I had lost the greeting culture.
Such warmth.
Sifting through the notes
With her silken smooth fingers,
Sorting, straightening bent ears,
Stashing in safe drawer,
I wish she would
Sort out my heart
And keep it safe in a closet.
Only she would access!
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