Heat Resistant

The tabletop has a pattern like linen or grain,

but it’s hard as a bone and colder than glass.

I’m tracing the edge where the glue shows a stain,

watching the afternoon traffic and the city bus pass.

Right by the sugar, a cigarette burn has been pressed,

a little black crater where the plastic gave way.

It’s the only part of the surface that’s ever been stressed,

a small, melted scar from a much hotter day.

We sit here on vinyl, leaning our weight on our arms,

wearing the laminate smooth with our jackets and skin.

The counter is built to survive all the kitchen alarms,

while we’re just the soft things that the world wears thin.