Gravitational Drag
The store has an otherworldly glow
in a starless lot.
The few parked cars
have leagues of loneliness between them.
No one comes or goes, they merely slipstream
through a personal invisibility.
Beyond the electric slide of glass doors
the anchorless roam
between the high stacked
and glitter wrapped.
Anyone that matters in the daylight
is not here.
At the check-out he sees her,
dark moons slung from each ear,
she with the dragon tattoo arm sleeve,
her small, half-cupped breasts
daring anyone to be kind.
He wants to be near to her,
yet he is only an itinerant broker of bad news.
The few that are here will leave separately
to tunnel into more makeshift hours,
and he must drive far enough away
to be some distance from himself.
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