Her stop sign red fingernails tap
tap the frumpy brown Formica diner table
in an impatient beat, melody in double time
of the easy light music
juxtaposed her heavy fried food
and hard decision.
In translucent golden plastic, her water ripples
ripples from inside to outside, perimeter to center,
but in circles idling back into their inceptions
before her crooked glance away
to reflections in the window's glass
where her green eyes go.
She stutteringly utters the whisper
trust your soul . . .