An Overheard Conversation

The girl marches into the cafe,
staccato as adolescents sometimes march.
Hamburgers are not enough
to draw her to her mother's table.
She resists a push
as she stamps and plops into her place.
Briefly, I see her plump young countenance
when she turns.

The older woman follows,
an egg woman with short, stout legs.
The origin of charm in the girl's face has darkened
to a surprising variation of what it must have been.

The girl knows what
her mother intends to say,
necessary but ugly:
a long accounting of monies spent
and monies yet to be spent,
details of bus schedules,
estimated bus stop arrival times.
Numbers just fly out of her,
limited conversation
but spoken with love.