Pink straw in the water glass.
Brown sugar sprinkled on his oatmeal.
His spoon in my ice cream.
Bodies lurching, table shaking,
laughter rising from the booth,
midnight restaurants
still not enough of a distraction.
Complaining no one's listening,
hours later here he's questioning.
"What color are his eyes?"
"Does he own a ferrari?"
"What do you have in common?"
Holds a paper straw husk between his lips,
gesturing, eyes accusing,
"Yes." And then the believer in me
turns, studying apple pie, "No."
I eat and talk and do not care
about how the answers sound.
The words fall from my mouth
like coins onto the table.
Everyone hears them and knows
how poor I actually am.
Can't stop smiling,
coming to grips with myself.
The pain is worth the plunder now.
Two days worth of tears still
you're the light behind my eyes
as I'm driving home in the dark
with fifty cents to my name. |
Submission Name: Midnight Restaurants
