Look who’s pining. Him,
happiness. I came home
smiling. One more thing
on top of the night. He
calls. He’s finished his
shift and clearly unnerved
at my ignorance. He walks
us out the door, maybe
smiling a little. I say
nothing but a little
voice mail. I’m
glad he seems OK.
But even a wisp of a
feeling can be messy.
Check my pulse but feel a
nerve, a tinkle of memory
that gropes me in an old
elevator. A bouquet
dangles and SLAM!
against the cage with a
bucket of teeth. That
old familiar feeling
and I’m back at the
arcade, slow to
swallow another
filthy quarter.
