The Black Under the Bubble
By Donna Weaver

It was a Denny’s coffee mug
stolen after an original Grand Slam.
Her bare shoulders planted with moles
like centers of black-eyed Susans.

He stirred homefries, sucked the spoon
a hand towel on his shoulder.
She called him a mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch.
He forgot to take her car in for inspection.

He needed to take her keys from her hands
So she threw them at his sweat pants,
Said, don’t forget my owner’s card.
He abandoned his spoon, swallowed coffee.

Her back bulged through slats of an antique
Shaker chair. He emptied his mug on her back,
shook drops of brown cream and sugar on the floor.
The moles, the blisters, like greenhouse glass.

Author bio: My name is Donna Karen Weaver and I am a recent graduate of the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg in southwestern Pennsylvania, with a BA in English writing. I was accepted to the Catskills Writing Workshop at Hartwick College, in Oneota, New York with a scholarship in 2002. I was awarded the 2003 Scott Turow Prize for fiction through The University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg. I was awarded an Honorable Mention for my poem Freckles, and publication through The Crucible at The University of Northern Colorado. I have published my work in Pendulum our on campus literary magazine and have publications forthcoming.