In a witness room crowded by
a TV trolley,
stained by other protected lips
a paper cup
sits desiccated
by fluorescent lights
on the faux-walnut table top.
No space for both of us.
White hair buzzing, her face flares
grey over me, demanding
that I have no place here.
So help you god. The maroon
smeared across the linoleum floor
must be coffee.
No comments:
Post a Comment