Survivor

I saw Heaven today.
It’s been a while.
Counting batteries back in the dark by the orthopedics.
She holds a pen light in her teeth and a dull pencil in her left hand.
Beads of sweat on her throat twinkling like far-away parking lots.
“Hey, you, Mister,” she says.
“Hey, you, Heaven,” I reply.
A renegade lock escapes her Scrunchy and tickles her cheek. She twitches it away then spins it to gold.
“You ever watch that show Survivor?” she asks. “You look just like that one guy.”
“No, Heaven,” I tell her. “But it’s on my list.”