The Reflex

The ice in the glass is a rattling sound,

while the apology drags itself over the ground.

He’s two hours late with a story of rain,

and I’m already numbing the edge of the pain.

I hand him a plate and I open a beer,

killing the anger before it gets near.

Then I take a rag to the ring on the pine,

wiping the wood and saying it’s fine.