Date Night

Friday at work people tell her:
“Great dress.”
“Thank you!”
“You have a date tonight?”
“I do.”
“With Mr. Right?”
“Or Mr. Right Now.”

At five o’clock
she drives home,
removes the dress and
hangs it up,
washes her face of
mascara and blush.
She tries to smile,
to laugh at her ruse,
but sees only smoke
in the mirror.

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