clatter of cups
breaking the silence...
a French press
waiting for someone
to take the plunge

Let’s face it, she says, and I rub the back of my neck with my right hand, twisting this way and that as if to get a better look at what she’s talking about. But if I didn’t see it before and have already stepped off the curb, what hope do I have now?

Let’s face it is a prelude to a cartoon disaster, the train going straight through you, the whistle blaring. Your life is a tunnel, and you’re standing there illuminated by light from both ends, wondering which way to go.

Let’s face it, she says, and I can feel my heart gathering steam.

Bio: Bob Lucky