The magazine lay open flat

The magazine lay open, flat,

on someone else's kitchen table.

A face I knew, smiling, fat

with success, impossibly able.

'Top 40 Under 40', in bold print.

Their name, a bright, triumphant glare.

My gut clenched, a familiar hint

of something stale, festering there.

The photo, too slick, too well lit.

That wide, unearned, almost foolish grin.

My own small life, suddenly bit

by the thought of where I hadn't been.

I closed the page, with a quiet snap.

The paper cool, the image gone.

But the bitterness, a persistent trap,

would linger till the break of dawn.