The couple next to me at the counter is
Talking about murder.
I'm sure of it.
She says, No one deserves it more than he does.
He says, Accidents happen.
I try to ignore them,
Concentrate on my eggs,
Sip coffee.
But my ears are tuned to their huddle,
Whispering,
Plotting.
She says, I don't feel guilty about it.
He says, No one will know.
I look around to see if anyone else has heard,
But the rest of the diner is chirping with mundane conversation.
I chance a glance at the man,
Long black hair, strong nose.
Why does he seem familiar?
He catches me looking at him,
And I wonder if he's now sizing me up for elimination, as well.
How much does he think I overheard?
I ask the waiter for my check and hand him my credit card,
But now the man and woman are aware of me.
A wall of coldness rises between us.
I act nonchalant and check my phone, eye the ceiling,
Pretend I don't know anything,
And wonder if they were talking about me in the first place.
© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Image by Tatmouss
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