The first time you cheated on me, you cried over the phone.
“We have to talk,” you said.
We walked in bruised silence through the park, then sat and stared over the hill.
“I don’t understand,” I said at last.
“Let me explain,” you told me. “We’re not a couple.”
David still doesn’t get it completely.
He orders for his wife. The waitress scribbles something on his napkin, slipping it under his whiskey glass.
His wife returns, applies lipstick.
“Not at dinner, dear,” he says.
His wife sips his whiskey and wipes her mouth with his napkin, smearing the phone number with her Revlon 43 lips.
Deanna Morris is a MFA graduate of Butler University (2013) with publishing credits for poetry, short stories, interviews, and freelance articles. Her work can be found in First Stop Fiction, Subtle Fiction, Clever Magazine, Scissors, and Spackle, among other places.