The Role Player

My clutter at your table has been cleared

The sweet wrappers in the bin

The almond skin discarded

The notes folded down with impeccable neatness

My mind unfurled, however.

The month will roll out without compensation

It will be a hard month

But those notes will never be unrolled again.



The chatbox doesn't exist.

You've left the stage with uncertain fervour

And before long I could see myself leaving too

Or have we?

Is there no way back to that cluttered table?



Let's just close it with a no.

There is comfort in hoping

With a sense of negative affirmation.