She was already planning the worst

She was already planning the worst,

the woman at the next table said.

I watched her, rehearsed,

already building it in her head.

Not that it would come.

Just that she was prepared,

had the speech ready, had it numb

before the news, already scared.

Her latte sat untouched.

The foam gave up slowly,

like it understood too much,

like it understood wholly

the mathematics of dread—

how you build catastrophe

carefully so the real one spreads

less like calamity.

I recognized the logic.

The way you rehearse disaster

so when it comes, it's less tragic,

less stranger, more faster

to absorb because you've been

rehearsing it for months.

I was doing it too, right then—

planning my own apocalypse, months

ahead of time, and when

she said the worst, I understood the hunt

for certainty, the need to know,

the two of us in that bright place

building the end, trying to show

ourselves we could face

the worst by planning it first.