Bad Fall
by Jonathan Bolick

she sits at the kitchen table
licking drops of vodka from her lips

new bottle ready, cap thrown away

the door slams, clicks
floor creaks from footsteps gone.

The refrigerator switches on
as she remembers when they bought it

and the lovely young girl
that sold it to them.

She wonders where that girl is now,
this moment,

as she sneezes and thinks she may be
coming down with a cold.

Looking out the window at the white-capped,
perfect homes of the neighbors,

she knows, it really doesn’t matter

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