Standard Tuesday

The diner is boarded with plywood sheets,

a 'Closed for Renovation' sign taped high.

It looks like the kind of lie that repeats

until the dust makes the windows go dry.

I found the receipt in the glove box today,

two eggs and black coffee, the total was small.

I didn't think much of the sky being gray

or the way you leaned back your head on the wall.

There’s a bag of pretzels, half-eaten and stale,

rolling around on the floor of the car.

We were just living, a mundane detail,

before we became what we currently are.