$1.39
There she is again,
sitting alone in the corner booth
at the Waffle House.
Polite smile, ordering coffee -
one cream, two sugars
masking bitterness.
Her shoulders scrunch up by her ears
when she takes a sip.
Eyes never leave the four foot
radius of the booth.
Today she pulls out a notebook.
One line drips from pen to paper.
Scribbled out.
Try again.
Lip caught between teeth
below furrowed brow.
She smiles a thank you at the waitress
that comes, unprompted, with a refill.
Heavy sighs and tearing paper sound simultaneously.
Wadded almost literature
stuffed into resisting pockets.
She pulls the porcelain mug up to her lips -
holding it there -
absorbing fresh-pressed Columbian steam.
A shield against the frost
that creeps onto window corners,
a parasitic ivory vignette in an empty frame.