A simple choice between the disloyal Yes
or the honest No that stabs like an ice pick
as you brace for, How many do you have?
Option A: The ice in your chest hardens
to a blue block with jagged edges
that slice your throat as faux-faulty math
subtracts the stars that burned out too soon.
Option B: Truth bubbles up through the ice,
splashes cold water in your questioner’s face,
then falls to form undodgeable puddles
that leave you both wearing soggy shoes.
Choosing, you stand in split-second stillness,
weighing obligations to yourself and a stranger.
The hush is like that of an upstairs room
waiting to be used.