She has been weeping.
He is eating a muffin slowly.
Her right hand flutters helpless
in the air above the table.
There is an empty paper bag before him.
There is a small brown stain on her blouse.
He finishes the muffin
and wipes his hands on his thighs.
She takes a sip of coffee
from her yellow paper cup.
He turns to her,
opens his mouth to speak.
She says, clearly enough
for me to hear:
No.  Never.  No.

This was published in the very last issue of Hazmat Review. I assume it wasn’t the cause.



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