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,
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