Treasure Island

Glen Martin Fitch


THROUGH A LOOKING GLASS


The end. A coffee shop.
We're sitting side
(not close) by side
before a mirrored wall
The 'we-not-we'
glare back within their stall.
Our faces show we tried.
We sighed. We lied.
We sit.  
To look each other in the eye
we'd have to turn.
I spy the you my mind creates.
Alas it's not my love I find.
It's spite, resentment and regret.
Then 'bye.'
I see two pair of hands, palms down.
And then you
check your image,
scoot your chair
and leave.
Now we're alone, me-two.
I can't believe
they'll never see
the likes of us again.
But us? Yes,
even if my eyes went blind,
your vacant stare
is etched upon my mind.

Submitted: Thursday, October 17, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 23, 2013

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