Isaac Dwyer '17
Stop making me dinner, I’m an ungrateful bastard.
You should know that I puked up your lentil
soup in the trash bin outside the dance studio.
It was mostly water and cracked peppercorn
anyways. My stomach’s weak, that’s why
I wait for you to sit down before slipping
my portions to the dogs. I left out the meat
for the maggots and all the hungry children.
I could make a winter quilt from the fiber-
glass twine in their cigarette filters; it would
keep me warm in sleepless Hunters’ Moons.
I count the twigs in my teeth. Things begin
to go downhill when strange girls in combat
boots decide to show you their poetry. I dread
the day when I embarrass myself and no one
bothers to tell me that I’m being an asshole.