le mot juste
© 2008 michele may


Dusty Velvet Box and a Margarita

Once…twice…three times
past I walked
with the dusty velvet box
in my hand
in my pocket.
..........I could keep it.
But I already have
for too long tucked away
in the drawer
in my room.
One last look
under the blinking pawn-it
revealed the lackluster token
of my forgotten forever.

So here I sit
next door at Mah's hard luck café
with my hundred bucks.
And I remember
on the rocks
..........(like my life)
is how I liked my margaritas
when we got stuck in Mexico
and drank until the fireworks show
was over.
So I order one frozen.
As I twirl my straw in the ice
i notice there's still some dust
left on my fingers

so I wipe them clean
on the soggy cocktail napkin.

And I smile,
slurp the last of
my frozen Mah-garita
and leave a hundred dollar tip
behind me.