Cream Soda…

Cream Soda…
Shantal Yamell Ramirez

The booth is a little tight
as I look around for familiar faces
and smile at the taste of my cream soda.

It fizzles on my upper lip
reminding me of our childhood–
a simpler time when everything made sense
and gas was closer to 99c.

But if life was as easy
to swallow as my cream soda
it wouldn’t have brought us here.

Me awaiting you
in this tight diner booth
feeling fluttering kicks in my belly
while you pay for the check.

We made it look easy, I guess–
As if we were on auto-pilot
enjoying the view off scenic route highway 101.

But they don’t know of the pivots and turns
and wrecks and flat tires we endured.
They only see what they want to see.
Or– what we let them see.

But it doesn’t matter what they think,
because we know better.
Car wrecks and cream soda.

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