Consumerism

There are two

of you at a

table, one sipping

wine and the other

drinking a Coke,

somehow I have

to please you both.

I bring out

the appetizer, a

short piece, words

boiled for a

handful of minutes,

seeing each person

crack the oval

structure with a

smile, I breathe

easier too.

For the entrée,

I am scared—

I’ve been slow

cooking the meat

of my idea, my

message for hours—

but the words fall

off the bone, mother’s

pride.

This feast I

place before the

caviar-muncher and

the burger-wolfer,

the man in casual

dress grins with

satisfaction, but the

man in a tie leaves

me with a curt ‘thank

you’—paying his bill—and

is gone.

Wounded, I take

the critic’s place and

stare at my creation, wondering

what I did wrong, but

the man in flip flops

taps my hand, and

asks for dessert.