by Donald Baker
“It’s gone out” she said
Wistfully, strayed a look his direction
His thick thumb flicked again and again
“Not getting a spark” He snapped
She dismissed him
“Maybe someone else can”
Turned from the opulent table
looked at the whisper of sunset on lake
finely rippled glass, rose to the distant shadowed tree-line.
“So beautiful” She breathed
“I can get them to bring another.”
He gave up.
Slapped the lighter down.
She reflected on the end of day,
and thought of the children
He stared at rough, war torn hands,
and thought of work
The wax of the lifeless candle cooled and hardened.