Sarah Mills

The world is ending & I’m crying in the Taco Bell parking lot

when someone asks me for money to buy lunch. I don’t carry cash,
but I also don’t cry in parking lots & I want to give this woman

what she’s looking for, one last black bean chalupa before we’re blown
to microscopic particles. I cry some more in the Taco Bell

bathroom stall, not so much because the world is ending
but because even here, on the precipice of non-existence, I feel so alone.

Last night I dreamed I told you the world was ending & you said you hoped
this would happen. I said let’s drink whiskey & listen to Frank Sinatra,

slow dance our way out of these clothes while outside the rain silvers
sideways, oh, how I miss​ you already, how everything ends, the rain

a faint heartbeat on the windowpane, your hand low on my back,
I've Got You Under My Skin filling the empty spaces, heat spilling over.

At Taco Bell, I order cinnamon twists & when the cashier asks
will that be all? I add a Crunchwrap Supreme combo, hand it to the woman

in the parking lot & I want to say this life has been too much
for all of us but even as the sky liquifies to nacho cheese I’m worried

about making a fool of myself & before we go, I want you
to know that I have loved you in my quiet, little way. 

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Sarah Mills is a freelance writer and editor. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in HAD, Rust & Moth, SoFloPoJo, Beaver Magazine, MoonPark Review, Ballast, Pensive Journal, Miniskirt Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Rogue Agent, Thimble and elsewhere. You can visit her at sarahmillswrites.com and on Bluesky- @sarahmillswrites.