I’m fishing for my credit card as you wrestle with the pears.
“Clack”, the cashier has placed a line through our groceries again.
As I toss a casual “we’re together”, I notice your face has turned stiff.
“It was just a mistake” I insist on the way back home

Thanksgiving has arrived but there’s just one problem; the focused stares of my family directed at us. “They’ll warm up to you”, I assert, directing the conversation to my mother’s pumpkin pie. The pie in question is something my mother prides herself on, making sure everyone tastes it at least once. Somehow, the pie has never made its way to you.

At my class reunion, old friends try to set me up with different people.
Politely, I show them my ring setting off choruses of congratulations and demands to see the lucky person. I notice the excitement has died down once they see you and decide not to mention it.

The riots begin in Minneapolis and make their way to Seattle.
When you join, I hesitate, pretending to be busy.
The news flashes red and blue at Friday's book club. One more dead.
It's only when you finally pick up my calls that I am reassured.
It wasn’t you, but it could have been.
And that’s when I realize.