Arlene Giddings

“i have to practice the clarinet”
her eyes sliding toward the door
he shrugs impassively
never admitting he wants more

{the yellow balloon
in her hand
is translucent in its girth}

she never questions his loyalty
only passes him
receipt of what she’s worth

he accepts the scraps,
paper and pulp…
his eyes slide to the door
he’s only agreed to
pass the time,
he’s never agreed to more.

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