Layover

Layover

I met her in the lobby bar of a hotel

down by the airport in LA. It was

the kind of place you end up when

your choices are like a game of

“Would You Rather?”

An exchange of pleasantries evolved

into sad stories about business trips

and missed connections. She told me

she was getting a divorce and out here

looking for a new start. Why not? I thought,

sadness always looks better with a tan

and a good pair of sunglasses.

She told me she dreamed in pastels

which struck me as odd, because

she only spoke in primary colors

like pain and regret.

I asked her if she wanted to come

up to my room and she looked down

as if she had dropped something

under the bar. She mumbled something,
looked up and I could see the resignation
in her smile.

Murmured protestations often proceed

to surrender in dim resolve of night

as the alcohol and feel of another’s flesh
dull the ache.

“What did she say her name was?”

SMG