On Friday night we take refuge
from the movie crowd, in an overdone diner.
The tomato-colored walls sigh with classic movie posters
and photos of the city before it was lost in suburban sprawl.
We hide between the tangled yellow and blue balloons
that belong to the children around us.
She leans into the cherry-glossed booth,
twirls her straw. She talks about the crazy cowboy
she sent home to Montana after a few weeks dating.
She moans over the work that once scattered across her desk,
but has turned into mountains in the past three months.
She slips into a story about doctors in pristine coats
peering over their glasses to read charts, x-rays.
She doesn’t want chemo this time.
She leans in, smiles
“I might not be around next year kid.”
Her words are the Pop! Pop!
of the bright balloons around us.
Created: Nov 04, 2010SweetMaris Document Media