The Movie
Two inches feels like
a mile between us
as we sit on the couch.
A multicolor display of flashing pixels
shimmers and glows on the screen—
the movie we see but aren’t watching.
He breaks the silence.
“About today…”
The ellipsis drags
as hollow explosions
distract his oh-so-willing mind.
“Yeah.”
The only response that seems
appropriate.
The silence is inviting—
could we just keep it like that?—
but, reluctant, he gives in
to the pull of words unsaid
and says his piece
and I say mine
the pauses becoming shorter, fewer,
farther between
as we go on.
Meanwhile, the pixilated Barbie strikes a pose,
impossibly pretty
impossible in her easy romances
though she weathers far worse than
the simple argument we’re in
and comes out scratch-less
hair unruffled
fake-faced and stunning.
But the ice between us thaws
and the mile curls up on itself into a sweet
two inches.
Maybe not as quick
not as simple
but much more satisfying than the
smoky-eyed impossibility on the TV
the mixture of pixels and colors
Meaningless.
