In Transit 2

The hollering shook Frank straight outta sleep.
“Why you treat me like that?” she warbled. A green-haired troll doll bounced rhythmically
against his leg from a string out her purse, punctuating the end of his nap. “I thought
you was choosing me this time.” Dark cheeks puffed
red like dry spilled wine as she sprinkled her pain
into the telephone. She wiped her eyes to hide the tide
threatening to erode her anger. “I knew you was playing me, you…” Frank drifts off
until the flip-snap of the phone slammed shut jolts him back;
he sees her there, staring past to the Jesus-man evangelizing
at the bus stop under the neon drug store sign. Her wet-puffed eyes glimmer wise
as she twinkles up at him: “Sorry, hun. That wasn’t your argument.”


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