I’ll Tell You What
While I sit across from you I’ll tell you what I’m not doing. Not thinking of the friend who never calls, the fish smell coming from the freezer. Noticing the gray hair above my left ear. Hating the bread-and-butter pickles you bought — (never ate) My mind should stray to the unpaid bills, past due notices. Instead I wonder about the man who must call to tell me I am past due. What does he do when he gets home at night?