She's sitting at the corner table, all alone.
Hand on a porcelain coffee mug and a lifetime sleeping on her brow.
It weighs her down, all those worries.
Wrinkling her forehead and sinking her eyes.
They just keep adding up and adding up.
She's got brown hair, this one.
Tied up into a tight pony tail, all slick and clean.
Except for that one lazy piece of hair she always ends up tucking behind her ear.
It's so annoying.
She does so now as her sneakered foot
tap-tap-taps away with the
tick-tick-ticking of her watch.
Tap, tick. Tap, tick.
Can't stop now, can I?
You ever see her smile? I mean,
Not the closed mouthed stretch she's kept ready for the last few years.
I mean, right out laugh.
Lips curled and teeth showing kind of smile?
Yeah, me neither.
He told me she used to all the time.
Hair flying free,
with the sun and the moon fighting for a chance to shine down
on her face.
"She used to be so happy."
She used to be so run down. She used to be exhausted.
Couldn't even lift her smallest finger unless someone else was watching.
She used to be so sick. She used to be so tired.
So sick and tired.
Sick and tired.
Of waking up every morning to go to sleep every night.
Is she happy now?
She's staring into the coffee mug,
feet still tapping,
watch still ticking.
I wonder what she's looking at.