January 2014 - Comments Off

Queasy

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.

Published by: in Issue 1: Fall 2013, Poetry, Volume 70

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