Unanswered

He’s at the Exxon, leaning on the pump,

arguing with the glass about a buck.

He looks like a man who’s hit every lump

in the road. He looks like he’s out of luck.

I used to pray for him. I’d stay on my knees

until the carpet left a grid on my skin.

'Please let him love me. Oh, please, oh please.'

I thought I was losing. I thought it was sin.

But there’s an oily thumbprint on his coat,

on the blue nylon collar, right by his jaw.

He’s mean to the clerk. There’s a catch in my throat—

not a sob, but a laugh at the things I once saw.

I didn't even know his voice at first.

It’s gravel and salt and a bad, heavy mood.

I’m so glad the bubble I lived in finally burst.

I’m so glad the answer was 'no' and was rude.