counting her cards

there's a spot on her cheek

an ash perhaps

a mere smudge she's not aware of

we all see it so

quietly, i tell her

turning suddenly she wipes it clean

erasing any embarrtassment

and returns to the task at hand

counting her cards

circles below our eyes

declare that morning is near

as the factory waits tomorrow

day shift of all days and

we can't call out again or

we'll be let go for good

the lights fade as the sun rises

warning about duties as

it shows the disheveled house

i stretch out on the floor wondering

what it could be like to share her bed

i hear her turn off the water and

close her door

a pronounced decisive click

birds welcome morning

i blow out the last candle as

the house grows quiet with

Bob on the couch and

Dave in the recliner and

me on the floor and

my love in her bed

i second guess her thoughts as

i hear her shuffle

counting her cards.

douglas brent smith