This one is about a woman who often goes to the supermarket the same time as me every day. Her makeup is terrible. I'm sure she'd look better without it. I put constraints on the construction of the poem to force me to be creative (seven lines, seven syllables per line, five lines starting with "s", two with "n"). Also to reflect the theme.
Separated from her face,
She searches the aisles, hidden.
Smile trapped behind thick mask
Somewhere in frozen gateaus.
Shouldn't someone tell her there's
No need for orange layers;
No one thinks it is her skin.