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Meals x 3, x any
given day
Breakfast
To break-fast,
first open the banana.
A certified-organic-Ecuadorian with one thick skin,
she’s no match for my carpet knife.
I dissect her just like on TV.
Flesh new and dry,
the inside of my lips stick to my teeth,
my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
Lunch
I tear the burger with my teeth, sesame seeds on the
top bun prevent my fingers from slipping.
Dinner
You’re fully grown, she said, you don’t need all those
calories. And do you have to use your finger as a
stirrer?
The
Interviewee
She said she was a natural blonde but no way did
I
believe her. She had big blue peepers and windshield
lashes, and drew love-hearts on a banana before
returning it to my fruit bowl.
She laughed a lot, and told me she was Persian and
confused.
I wondered what she meant, if anything. Maybe I
should have asked. She had big blue peepers and
windshield lashes. I bet she spent a fortune on
mascara.
I said I’d be in touch if a suitable position arose,
but frankly I couldn’t see her fitting in. Naked
across my desk *maybe*, but not on the
factory floor. So I excused myself for not
accompanying her to the door; it was half a mile of
corridor away. The walk depressed me, and there were
still other candidates to talk to.
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