At the time of night that men call 10:30,
I sit in a corner bar by myself,
Watching two tables---
Clusters of life and sound---
A softball team and their wives/girlfriends/lovers
Drinking softly into the evening

A child's face, released from mother's side,
Floats around the tables,
Serene and white in tavern dusk,
Asking a quarter from each adult
Until finally someone gives him one
To make him gone

And for the millionth time
I look into the mirrored tile behind the bar
And see you there beside me

You're looking down---
Digging through your purse---

And the wound that never heals
Opens just a little more---
A quarter's worth---