Reposted in honor of National Donut Day
glass-enclosed vestibule
the woman behind the counter
a dozen customers seated
The author paints a portrait
of the me I did not become
there in black and white
there seemed to be a connection
you knew they all knew one another
and me
wondering:
what if I had remained?
Worked my shifts.
Made the donuts.
Married the cowboy.
Had the kids.
Lived that life.
Would it have been
the better or the worse?
Would I?
My finger dogears the page,
as if to say I was here
or remember this
the alternate ending
blurred and obscured
I was drawn to it as if to a dream.
