Regret
On my last flight,
the man sitting to
my left
drank a Bloody Mary
with such fierceness
I almost didn't notice his
oniony smell
until he lifted his arm
and revealed it to
me.
The man on my right
held his phone with
practiced precision,
his thumbs,
twisted like organic carrots,
growing the way they were
intended to
without interruption,
clinging to the sides while
his raspy voice
spoke into it
to text a woman
named Holly,
"Should I come straight home,
or
can I
stop by the office first,
question mark" Send.
I thought long and hard about
that
"can," and let it swirl
around inside
awhile before I imagined Holly at home
with a baby on her hip,
and a cat they'd named Majestic
rubbing on her leg,
hopeful for attention,
contemplating how many times she'd
granted
the "can"
and wished she hadn't.
No comments:
Post a Comment