Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Lunch (Poem)

 (Note: This poem is simply about sitting down and eating lunch at a crowded foot court in a mall.)


The decibel level is
extremely high.
Nothing coherent.
Just a loud murmur
of voices
melding together.

colors and gizmos,
jingles and slogans.
Only 99 cents,
Anything else
with your order.
Dozens of choices,
lining up like
an old fashioned
firing squad.

There is an
bright orange tray
before him.
He carefully opens the
greenish yellow paper just
using his pale fingertips.
He picks up the bun
and with a surgical touch,
like a NATO airstrike,
he picks out the onions.

White shirted
high-school kids
sprint towards the arcade.

He’s trying to eat healthy.
Charbroiled chicken in his
Small coke.
Small fries.
His nose wriggles.

The air smells of
cheap perfume mixing
with expensive perfume.
Hair spray, gel and mousse,
quarters in pocket, new dresses
open boxes and happiness in a
Of burnt out plastic,
and too much makeup.

The crowd growls slowly
in unison.
Heads bobbing up and down,
like prairie dogs in a hot
summer morning.

He chews his chicken sandwich,
carefully counting each bite.

Conversations jumble:
“This pizza is good,”
“Are you gonna eat that last
“. . .that guy is hot,”
“. . .think she’ll go out with me?”

Sip the Coke,
read the little copyright on the

There is greens and creams,
pastel colors.
Indirect lightning,
soothing tones.
Mixed with moving flesh
and grinning tones.

He stands up, his meal is

No sundae today. . .
Maybe later.


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