The Alibi

On Monday morning near the pot

of bitter, burnt-leaf office tea,

I told them that I’d liked it a lot—

the noise, the crowd, the company.

I said we toasted to his birth

and stayed until the lights came on.

I measured out a fake day’s worth

of how the Friday night had gone.

But I was in the corner booth

with a paperback and a single beer.

The wet ring on the cardboard—truth

is just a thing they shouldn't hear.