Sent: 1/12/2005 2:26 PM
Her stop sign red fingernails tap
tap the frumpy brown formica diner table
in an impatient beat melody in double time
of the easy light music
juxtaposed her heavy fried food
and hard decision.
In frosted translucent golden plastic, her water ripples
ripples from inside to outside, perimeter to center
in circles growing and disappearing into their inceptions
before her crooked glance away
reflections in the window's glass where
green eyes go
She stutteringly utters the whisper -
trust your soul . . .
