Black metal chair, cold against the back of your legs.
Nobody wrote to me. Why can’t you just do something?
How warm was it that day? What was I wearing?
A creepy older couple, but decorous. Not talking too loud.
Remember the forever summers stretched out before us?
I don’t even know any more. Guess I wish I could, too.
Looking back, it seems like we should have been happier.
But I am not hungry, and they didn’t stockpile my favorite
marzipan fruit.
Is it ever enough? Do we ever feel like everything is right?
I have never in my life. All the complaining. Getting paid
to stand around. Come on people.
They call that contentment. Not that I’d know.
The waitress keeps saying she has no idea.
It’s a crying shame. What with the blue sky and all.
Because I wanted one. It was more out of habit.
Looking at this man is making me feel something or other.
The metal leaves a lingering imprint on your thighs.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere
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