"you were supposed to
say something," she chided under
her breath
" it was up to you to carry the day."
disappointment
waited till the end of her sentence
before it stole her away
" it's so hard"
she squeaked two stick thin
composure leaving its' mark on her stricken face
so hard
to regain the lost momentum
of those apple pie
minutes
when teeth would
gladly sink in sweet smiles
now whose to laugh?
the past had it's chance and the present
is so choked in awkward
tension it lends itself comfortably to a confusing end it's
the sound of lake lapped land where
goodbyes puddle ceaselessly under there, the
huddled shuffle of another
cold shoulder