"Holes"

Holes

There are no holes in my arms.

Like the girl - early twenties?

Pants - if you could call them that -

Maybe the Lululemon yoga sort

They had to finally recall

Too sexy; too sheer; too revealing

Shares fell after that.

Her pants - as she stooped to get

Something from her bag -

Slid below the crack. Way below.

So far down, I looked away

For shame for her.

Did she not feel cool air

Against that vanilla-pale, soft, smooth skin?

Then, as I stole another glance -

Or, maybe it was just that her move to stand

Caught my peripheral vision -

She stood

She rummaged

Pants still half-way down.

As she rummaged through her bag

Just moved to the top of the table

Her hands came into view.

They bore holes - large, healed, gaping

Waiting?

From the back of her hands to her forearms

Wherever there could be a vein.

Holes.

They held my gaze for more than the polite two seconds

When I finally looked away

I cast my gaze upon nothing in particular

Pretending I could taste

The iced tea I was sucking through a straw

Too large for that.

She found what she'd been searching for

She must have

She abandoned her bag

- Not caring, it seemed

Whether any of the hundreds of

Food court patrons

Would prove themselves untrustworthy -

Reached into the upper part of her pants

Pulled them up just a little

Before going for a refill.

It was on her return

I saw her face

Too young

Too old and long a story

Too weak

Too worn

Too familiar

Too easy to get sucked back in.

No fight

No more

All gone

What's the score?

Doesn't matter

All lives used up

Way too late to start over

Again.

As I looked around

And sipped my iced tea

I somehow managed to be thankful

There are no holes in my arms

That you can see.

- Dnafcnatgada

Claudia

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