Almost Readable

The person in front of me at the pharmacy

had a clear rain poncho on, hood down,

phone in their jacket underneath the plastic—

lit up. The glow came through

as just the shape of words,

a name maybe, rendered soft

by four millimeters of cheap material.

I kept looking.

Not at the words—

there were no words, just the bright suggestion

of them.

I was staring. The person turned around.

I looked at the blood pressure cuffs.

Three days since the call.

Three days of running the end of it back—

the part where we were both still talking

and it was already decided.

I know the shape of it.

I can almost read it.

I keep getting the glow.