In Public. By Alyssa Trivett

 In a Chatty Cathy in the world,

I retreat to headphone bliss

as words crisscross and battle

each other while I’m in the frozen aisle

forgetting to buy microwaveable bacon

or coffee ice cream.

My introverted sometimes extroverted self

retreats back to my tail

between my legs and

comic bubbles fly mostly when I’m

at the bar with him.

I went into detail last night

as I told my woes of how losing

my last grandparent on my mom’s side

and a part of me

sometimes feel like I’m still in

that condominium Wisconsin Dells pool,

walking with shallow legs and

I accidentally ran into the table after

I ate my PB&J.

Grief comes in at the oddest moments.

It sneaks up playing Heads Up 7 Up

and it will pick you even though you may

not want it to.

But we go on.

We grow on.

And the losses never seem to face me

at all, not now,

only once in a great blue moon,

face to face,

as a cashier you try to communicate with

but the cues just aren’t there so you

watch ‘em do the one handed trick

of throwing Cesar

dog pet foods in the bag and

bid them a good day.

And sincerely hope that they do

have that.

The morning is over and the day

begins to baseball bat swat

at whatever it brings.

Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places, but most recently at Ex Ex Lit, and Duane's PoeTree site.