Customer Service

The kettle is starting to whistle and steam

while I stand in the kitchen alone,

thinking of the girl at the grocery store

and the way that my voice lost its tone.

'Enjoy your dinner,' she said with a sigh,

scanning the peas and the frozen pot pie.

'You too,' I muttered, then wanted to die

as she stared at the clock passing by.

She’s stuck in the fluorescent glare of the aisle

while I’m going home to my plate.

A small, stupid slip that hangs in the air,

a kindness that arrived far too late.