Polished

She said I always look so put together.

She meant it. I said thank you. Meant most of mine.

I'd been awake since four. The stress had broken

through the concealer somewhere near my jaw line,

and I'd patched it twice already. The stick

worn to plastic at the nub. That's what

it costs to hold the surface. She caught me

at the coffee machine—a genuine cut

of kindness at the wrong moment. I smiled.

Said thank you. Asked how her weekend was.

Like everything was where I'd left it.

Like I'd slept. Like that's just how a person does

this every day without the whole thing showing.

She went back to her desk. I filled my cup.