Into her black-leather high-heel boots, she slides.
And her black elbow-length gloves.
All whilst he smiles in his office of bullet-proof glass.
He does not hear her clacking heels down his hall.
But he knows… oh, he knows…
The smiles melt from his devotee’s faces.
They, too, sense her approaching.
They mark the time on the old grandfather clock as she enters.
She’s called a bitch. But she is merely a reaper of what humans sow.
Sometimes gentle.
Sometimes kind…
But always always always…
Karma gets what she is due.
