Hypothermia

In the glare of neon, she wiped the counter down,
sipping from a lifetime's cup of recollection,
tested, testy, tired of yesterdays.
In the back a nagging buzz announced the donuts,
bobbing new-tanned in boiling oil,
a sight too familiar. But she
stopped asking questions years
ago. Time to glaze.
Why signals agitate so in such places-
better not ask. The door jangled
and he was there. She tried not to,
but she remembered. Remembered
the fumbling in the drive-in,
the desperate quest for something
before hypothermia set in.
Remembered necking hours through,
a sighing pleasure, losing time
until, too late, she found
he wasn't around, and her mother,
and her grandmother, beckoned from the grave,
whispering ghostly histories.
When she looked up he was half gone,
packing his Winstons on a wrist,
recognition out of question.
The fireflies winked out; the neon glow
washed her paleness red-
and the donut buzzer rang.

poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!

Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)