Table For One

Anxiety gnaws at my fingernails,

Excitement ties knots in my stomach.

Staring into my closet,

Nothing looks good enough to wear for you.

Meanwhile my brain is nagging,

"Tame that wild hair, cover that tiny flaw.

You don't deserve a guy so perfect."

I believe what it says it true.

I wait in the parking lot,

Breathing out mist in the crisp autumn air.

Headlights flit past, none of them yours.

I glare at my phone and accuse it of lying.

You can't be five minutes late,

Or ten, fifteen, or twenty.

How did my favorite blouse get wet?

I realize that I am crying.

I huddle on the curb, heartbroken and freezing,

Too ashamed to go home so soon.

I shuffle inside. drying tears on my mittens,

And mumble, "Table for one."

The waiters glance over with eyes full of pity,

Bringing me water with not enough ice.

They offer me food, but I'm feeling queasy.

Everyone here has a date.

I call you, I text you, and then call your friend.

You're out with some girl, a cheerleading snob.

My face burning red, I crumple the check.

Tears spill down my face and onto my plate.