Train station drama

I order my cup of tea
behind me is all drama
she has a cut finger
how I don’t know
there is not puddles
of blood on the floor
she is demanding
that he ‘do something’
he asks the counter lady
who fetches an antiseptic wipe
I sit entranced
waiting for a friend
watching the tale unfold
she whines, complains
twiddles the napkin
on the festering wound
for the next twenty minutes
at one point he leaves
to sit ten feet away
her face twists in anger
texting at speed
and he says
stop texting me
I’m just here
do something
she hisses
its about now
I begin to pity him
if this is only the start
of their life together
he queues again
the counter lady delivers
he hauls his trophy home
a plaster for her paper cut
her anger frown clears
her man, her man
has done what she wanted
all is good again
in her precious world

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