The Automat


One glove on, the other one
sits in solitude at the table.
Across from her, an empty chair.
Suffocating her are her own thoughts.

Overwhelming darkness sits in the window
behind her.
She's already half way there.

The corners of her lips
point downward,
toward the shadows
of people
who left hours ago.

Her expression changes
in the nick of time.

And still the waitress never comes.

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