by Cheryl Snell

“You got kids?” she asks him.

“Who knows? I’m a refugee of the Free Love era,” he says with a wink. “You?”

She waves away a fly buzzing over her Chartreuse Tonic. Her kids warehoused her last month. Still show no remorse. “I’m nobody’s mom,” she says.

“Still, you’re one pretty mama. Hey, pretty mama,” the old man growls.

“Hey baby,” she coos, playing along. She takes the man’s raw hands in hers. The gesture startles him. A gray tendril falls over his forehead.

He is the only man at the home who can still drive at night. Plus, the nearly full head of hair.

She could do worse, she thinks. Smiling, she takes a sip of her glowing green drink.

Cheryl Snell’s books include poetry and fiction. Her work has been included in the Best Microfiction 2025 and Best Small Fictions 2025 anthologies. Most recently, her work has appeared in Switch, Ghost Parachute, Midway, On the Seawall, and elsewhere. She lives in Maryland with her husband, a mathematical engineer.