She fell into a deep sleepless dream.
She dreamed she was a queen, Princess
Diana before she was dead, Churchill
without the soggy stogies and stale
slogans, Dr. Phil, Oprah, Curtis Martin,
or Einstein’s wife, if it even matters.
Synapses snapping like purple lightning
zapping mosquitoes on a muggy night,
She continued pouring coffee, taking orders,
making small talk, refunding change, and
calling everyone, “Hun.”
And when her shift was done, she fell into
a deep dreamless sleep.
Rodney Betten lives in Grand Rapids Michigan. Besides writing poetry, he enjoys time with family.
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