Practical Construction

He went to her house one day just a few
weeks after they had met as plus ones
on opposite halves of a reception.
She was making taffy in the kitchen
and all the scattered cookware
and ingredients were like chaotic
towers of messes left for later.
He asked her why she bothered with
all the work when there was taffy at the store,
and her response was there is more
to making something for yourself
than just the product at the end of the endeavor.
There was never another moment
when the two of them were together,
but this one instance still stuck out in both
their minds. Not because of any feelings
left unnoticed or explored but because
the answer that they came to with their choices at the surface,
defined the practical against the feeling of construction.
They remember it separately on different days
when they are both shadows of their former selves.
She is in Florida under florescent lights watching
insects land on the big window because
they think it’s like another kind of sun.
He is studying a gun he found between
the floorboards in a motel room that he rented
for a weekend out in Vegas.
The buses run late in both of those places
and without knowing what to do
they just get on one and head off
to where the night becomes a black eye
on the mirror.

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