November 22, 2011

alone at Ihop
numb stare of eyes
the blue of pavement, flecked
maple syrup on my elbows
elbows on the table
conversations like birds
snickering around me
"he was the one with the swollen throat... throat cancer i think.. smoking."
that's an elderly man. sing songy.
"my defects... well i haven't gotten there yet."
a young man. pride.

and then i hide my phone in my lap and play tetris
i pretend to be texting
a black haired boy across the aisle is snapping away at his video game.
not hiding. greasy haired. all in black. not hiding.
i contemplate bulimia.
but i'm already attached to my swelling belly.

i give up.
i twitch and tick. I mind less and less.
why does age take such caring, such pretense away?
screw it, i think. i'm interesting to watch.
i'm hiding and i fit in,
i fit into my hiding place.

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