by Kathy Mackey
straight backed, anxious, defeated.
Two
menus on your table. One water.
Waiting.
Still not ready to order.
Your
toe taps an impatient drumbeat
while
you finger your cell phone
looking
for messages, listening for ring tones,
scanning
the street for him.
Onlookers
notice your frenzy.
Why
can’t he?
You
are young, insecure, not beautiful.
The
waitress, older, confident in her work,
prods
you to order espresso and pear crostini.
She
complements your china red nailpolish
lifting
your cold, sweating hand, smiling
until
she sees your eyes filling with tears
wounded,
baffled, asking why -
why
why why why why.
You
lick wounds, fold napkins,
leave
dollars on the table.
Button
your coat. Wind your scarf
around
burning neck and cheeks.
It’s
happened again. Go,
hands
in pockets. Walk out
into
a frozen world of sleet and cruelty.
