Lunch on Thursday

She held my hands
As our waitress
Brought our soup

My skin, rough, cracked
From the work
I’m putting in
To keep us fed
Naturally, I’m paying

I’m trying, I am
And I succeed
But not always.

Some days I fail
Inside my head
Inside my heart
I want to be
Better 

“I’m struggling”
I say
As a tear forms
In my eye

“I can’t keep up,
The mountains grow
I wear them 
Like a lead vest
They don’t stop
Ever”

And you hold my
Hurting, cracked hands
And smile
That makes a fire
Seem dim

We eat our soup
And laugh, and pay
As we part,
I feel lighter

© Jon E. H. Burton