Script

The steam is thickening the air in the hall.

I can hear the water beating

against the plastic curtain,

a steady, mindless drumming.

At dinner, the chicken was dry

and we spoke about the weather in Ohio.

I couldn't say I’m leaving

while I was looking at your face.

I took a receipt for milk and bread

and wrote it on the back in ballpoint.

My thumb slipped on the word sorry,

leaving a purple smear

the color of a fresh bruise.