Leon watches a blackhole form in his Guinness,
sees all the dark liquid super-condensed into a micro droplet.
He considers drinking it anyway, even at the risk
the blackhole will begin to twist his stomach inward
and down the micro droplet gravity well.
Leon attributes the blackhole’s formation
to the void of bar pretzels needing to be filled
and the lack of a Thursday delivery to replenish precious micro brews
whose designated refrigerator shelves stand empty.
He considers dipping his finger into the blackhole
and letting it draw him off the barstool
just to learn what is happening on the other quantum side—
so chicken and cross the road of him that he chuckles.
Olivia, oblivious of the blackhole and event horizon,
smacks Leon in the shoulder, in the paranoid belief he chuckled
about her for one demeaning reason or another—
she always has at least a dozen to choose from at the ready.
Leon takes a black marker out of his breast pocket,
writes “Brat!” into the thought bubble above his head.
Before he finishes the exclamation point,
the micro droplet blackhole absorbs the thought bubble
and all the resentment he allocated toward Olivia.
Leon smiles and waves hello to Olivia instead,
manages to keep his eyes on her eyes
instead of glancing down to her cleavage.
“Good day to order another round,” Leon says.
“What you drinking?”
# # #
Kenneth P. Gurney lives in Albuquerque, NM, USA with his beloved Dianne. His latest collection of poems is Stump Speech. Read more of Kenneth’s work here: http://kpgurney.me
Photo credit: Terri Malone