Dishes

She gets off work the other side of evening
She counts her tips and tells me that she’s leaving
I scrape the plastic plates and dry the glasses
My apron is a testament to madness
Years of washing dishes and she’s gone
Her boyfriend brags how many ways he’s had her
The busboys and the line cooks crack with laughter
And I pretend I don’t know what they’re saying
And they pretend our fate is not the same thing
Years of washing dishes and we’re gone