love story

her peachpink seashell cheeks don’t look as bright as they did this morning
and her mascara’s smudged which she so carefully applied
leaning over the sink until the edge pressed a damp line into her shirt

she was late for work today but the coffee was good

the man in the elevator who smiled at her when she didn’t see had perfect teeth
(his mother tells him he should be an actor
because mothers always have a dream for their handsome sons)

he’s not smiling as he stands on the sidewalk outside the office building
while a woman holds a microphone in his face

(his face is meant for the camera)

his mother, who always tells him he should be an actor
pauses in the folding of the laundry
as her handsome son tells the lady with the microphone

about how he had smiled at the woman in the elevator
(because he was happy to be alive,
and happy to be in the elevator with a beautiful woman who was gazing into her coffee cup)

and no, she didn’t seem particularly upset, just meditative
–or reflective,
maybe reflective was the word he was looking for–
as if she was working out some minor puzzle in the bottom of her coffee cup

she’s the puzzle now, this twist of limbs
found on the sidewalk by the man with the perfect teeth

whose mother sighs at his face on the television
because she always knew he was destined for greatness


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