Coco

I glare across the counter from my spot nestled between the folds of the brown paper bag. Stupid Gala is doing that thing again, as she has every single day, for the past, I don’t know, week?

Four buzzes 

Wake me up, 

Loud in the quiet 

Dark. 

A seconds-long debate 

In my head 

Down the Interstate, 

Stuffed in an SUV, 

A perfect suburban one. 

You shake your knees. 

Mom tells you to stop shaking. 

They deserve to laugh and sit on the floor and coo over babies. 

They deserve to talk in a language I don’t understand. 

They deserve to look at each other with love.