“Would a ‘happy birthday’
be in bad taste?”

Keys chimed,
glasses clinked,
she adjusted her hair
and he adjusted his gaze.

“You’re not the first one
to say that today.”

Coffee steamed,
rigid
smiles beamed.

“How’d you know her?”

he picks at a napkin,
she plays with her collar.

“She was my sister,”

she sips at her drink,
he twists at his ring.

A fork hits the ground,
and she turns around.

“Sorry about the timing.”

he folds his hands,
her eyes find her lap.

“I can’t do this,”

her wooden chair screams
and watery eyes shine.

“I­”

his hand raises up,
but falls just in time.

If he could get a chance,
another

But she had to get away,
cover

She’s already gone,
and he didn’t get her number.