The man behind the counter had a cough

The man behind the counter had a cough

and eyes that looked like wet, unpolished stones.

He told me I was beautiful, then off

he went to stock the coolers on his own.

I stood beneath the flickering white hum

of tubes that make the skin look green and sick.

I felt my pulse begin to thud and drum,

a hollow, fast, and unconvincing tick.

I checked the mirror by the paper towels,

where 'Wash Your Hands' is peeling at the edge.

The sink began its rusty, metal growls

as I leaned back against the tile ledge.

He must have seen a person in the glass

I haven't met or haven't learned to be.

I watched the minutes and the shadows pass,

waiting for a face that looked like me.