She only thinks
out loud, finding
a million ways to say
a million nothings.
Reaching deep for compliments
about her highlights
and slimming skirt.
I look at my chopsticks
and ask how hard I
would have to throw my face
to penetrate my brain.
It's been twenty five
minutes now and I'm
crawling with nausea. How can she
be so full of herself?
Then she asks how my day
has been, and
I realize
I haven't been
paying any attention to her
at all.
Sometimes, I'm too proud
to apologize.
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