Unhappy Customer

This is a poem I wrote with my sister, dogpoet. We like to write together line by line so that the idea is kind of both of ours. 

Satiny fabric that swooshes like constantly rushing 
Water
Tens of hundreds of wooden spools wrapped in bright, hardy string.
Humming machines that blend in with the offtune humming of a distracted seamstress
Tens of hundreds of hairs wrapped into a messy, swooping bun.
Slanting floors that are scuffed from offbeat, spontaneous dancing
To hundreds of songs
Years of melodies are worn into the wood.
Scraps of cotton and wool and unraveled bits of yarn scattering the place,
Her dark, polished shoe brushes them quickly away, like a repulsing magnet
Forever trying to put things back in their place. 
She is a polar opposite to the shop; the girls who opperate this whirring machine
While their hair dances out of it's place, hers stays slicked back as tight as it can be.
Each vertabrae is stacked like the tower these bolts of cloth aspire to be
The buttons on her suit like a symphony strung together from the bright notes lying about the place
Her tightly pursed lips almost as thin as the slimmest string
Trying to fit through a needle's eye.
The fabric of her forhead creases as each girl quickly jumps to her feet,
Her mind silently judging, silently analyzing each fold, each seam, each stitch
And
Her mouth's seam is slowly ripped apart
To answer the silent qustion of their eyes
Fabric parts
machine at the ready
to clack out sound
A creation
That speaks for itself.
"Try harder next time."