Sitting across from
a reflection
at a bright
and dingy
mexican place.
The wood paneling
casts funny shadows,
and I want to say
I told my shrink
about you.
Instead we smile over cokes
and read the menu board
aloud in bad accents.
I want to say
you don't exist
to me anymore.
You are wisps
of shadow and
steam
like the
empty red basket
on the table,
misaligned parchment,
a thin layer of grease.
You are the wedged
piece of
chip in my gums,
waiting for tacos.
I want to say
I can see
through you,
you are not
here.
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