The Ex-Girlfriend

It's four o'clock on a Sunday.

She sits in the brown twill chair

and stares a me on the couch.

"Why don't we do anything anymore?"

The tequila glistens gold

distorting the lines of oak.

She brought lemons.

Everyone knows I prefer limes.

"Are you listening to me?"

She looks so pale and bloated

under the glare of overhead lights.

Her eyelids heavy with shiny shadow.

The tequilla burns my throat.

"You know I want to still be friends."

The lemon juice bitter in my mouth.

I wonder why she keeps coming here.

I stopped inviting her a month ago.