Day 5: The Door Slams

The Door Slams
By Hannah Six

The door slams and she
lands heavily on
gold naugahyde
by the kitchen table
wedge-heeled slipper
scuffing at the vinyl floor
ticking away the
roughly cigarette-shaped
moments her mind
surrenders
vague white noise
behind hazel eyes. Afterward
a deep sighing breath
crackling cartilage
a sponge
a two-quart pot.

The door slams and he
allows himself to fall
landing in the palm
of a white vinyl
bucket seat
left leather sole tapping
nervously
oncoming headlights unseeing
eyes. Afterward the glare
the choice
young cashier
smile forced the
same gleaming
fog-frosted highway.

The door slams
she remains
reclining tattered guide
in hand
television snickering
in the middle distance.
Keys dropped on
the dull black shelf
hallway
bag rustling an apology
as he
passes
swirling wake
of smoke.
Yes, she would
like pineapple sauce
but only on the vanilla side.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six