Literature
The Weight of the World
The paper is yellow,
consistently damaging as time fades
fold, unfold—
borderline compulsive, chasing whatever emotion.
His left eye is a cloud of dust,
barely able to see what his late brother had written.
A bell dings as the door to the diner swings open.
A young man walks in,
late teens
disheveled, rugged, soaked in sweat
hair may be mistaken for slicked-back intent.
The man who was here first reaches for his black coffee,
slouches back into ripped vinyl,
and takes a sip.
The young man is not a threat
passive, frozen
he hasn’t blinked once.
They nod at each other.
The moment has passed.
The kid trudges to a corner booth
he places his baggage underneath the table
Sunset becomes a new moon
it’s a ghost town
He has gone through four more cups of coffee,
watching, making sense of what his left eye won’t give him.
“Another one for you?” asks a familiar waitress.
The man stares down at the cup,
he looks finished.
He doesn’t answer
just jerks his head toward the dark corner of
