Just a Cat

The diner's hum, a steady drone,

forks scraping ceramic, low.

My burger, half-eaten, felt like stone,

a quiet, indifferent show.

Two tables over, the voice,

a woman's, sharp and clear.

"He never even liked the damn cat." No choice

but to hear. It landed, a spear

between the clatter, the sizzle from the grill.

Just a cat. But the way she said it, still

a wound, opened fresh and raw.

The quiet of my own jaw.

My appetite, just gone.