“Of course he didn’t say what he meant,”
snarked my literature degree while
my small town diner waitress went
three rounds more about “who’s gonna get the child?!”
My lit degree’s making itself useful these
days. Economy’s not so great but
denouement is making a comeback. “He’s
not paying her a dime, Bea. Order up.”
Outside it rains pathetic fallacy.
I consider explaining show vs. tell
but it’d only work to characterize me:
part of her alliterate clientele.
“Back again?” she smiles, “More coffee, sweetheart?”
I nod. I try not to fall apart.
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