The Plural

The machine spit out two tickets for the show,

a pair of little yellow strips of lies.

I told my mother I had a place to go

with people who have names and faces and eyes.

I sat in the middle of the empty row

and put my jacket on the seat to my left.

I laughed when the characters put on a show

just to hide the fact that I was feeling bereft.

When I called her back, I used the word 'we,'

describing the dinner and the jokes that we shared.

It’s a crowded sort of misery

to pretend that there’s someone who actually cared.

I found the stub later, deep in the grain

of a popcorn bucket I finished alone.

It’s a heavy thing, carry the weight of the rain

while pretending the sun has consistently shone.