Dark Side

At a truck stop diner outside Atlanta: His face expressionless His mouth mutely slack He sat at his small table watching her as she methodically absent-mindedly splashed dinner plates into dull sudless brown water quick-rinsed, and set on a rack to dry ready for the next diner dinner. Her body remote, as though she’d done this dance hundredsandhundredsandhundreds of times before, Which she had. Harshly scrawled dark red lips stretched taunt across an empty face, Wearily worn black mascaraed eyes watching the counter watching the diners Wanting they remember her enough to leave a tip. He be the man just visiting from other cooler parts with no perception of the backstory she carried. Her life had carved her face as stony as the floor where upon she stood. Past times of past times weighting heavy upon her shoulders dulling her eyes into a vacant sight. Working sub-min-wage at a truck stop parenthesis off a nowhere highway, surviving yet another hot humid day on her far side of the moon Her piece of life’s real estate quite the opposite of the man at the table, He who lives on a brighter side of the moon, He who would never could ever never understand how dark a dark side of moon can be.