He serves: I’m working late
She returns: Sounds good. I think I’ll go out, myself
He lobs: Who are you going with?
She returns: Why does it matter?
He stretches, just manages: You might be in an accident. I should know where to look.
She returns to the far corner: So I can stop into the office and see you this evening?
He turns too slowly, can’t reach far enough: Uh.
Zero love.
#NaPoWriMo prompt 16 about a game.
(Still writing poems that connect with my current novel writing project)
Shawn L. Bird 