it's never like that

talking in third person, she didn't wait
for the correlations to be added up.
the scene called for action so she drove her car
into the pond in the flood. it was not the right choice.

many layers of years later
the memory unfolds above the surface
reflects in her shelter, shimmery and vague
blending with faces of the drowned
covering the faces of the dead.

she tries to put her finger
on a single thing, a crux she missed-
the smell of weed in the guest room
the thank you never written
lamented lust after late night battles, well fought- she
doesn't know what
 has landed her in the sorry state.
but sorry she is, her eyes
 are radishes stuffed
into macaroni shells, her brows spell tragic.
she sees herself in the mirror, sternly mimes at the reflection
 the- accepted-if -confronted -excuse
" i didn't mean anything by it. let's plan something soon, call me"
she grins,  maniacal eyed. hits unfriend.
steps into the shower