Sushi at
Nakama–
ginger pink,
wasabi,
soy sauce poured
over rice.
Amateurs,
but we love
each other.
(originally published in All Your Poems, Summer 2025)
lunch
Pounds of Turkey
I am tired of lunch meat sandwiches
the cold beasts breathing down
my throat of history
harkening if not to past lives
then my previous ones too
sitting alone in Mom’s kitchen
the green and white table
under malfunctioning fan
with a clink in its swing
Wonderbread from Acme
could have been from anywhere
but the taste is familiar if not a burdened kind of sweet
I’ve moved to a Schwebels brand of cheap
wheat always on sale always lasts
for weeks until it’s eaten
this food chain lawlessly evolved
(originally published in The Field Guide Poetry Magazine, Fall 2023)
Whip Your Flame Hair Against Me
and I am on fire too ready
to burn Panera down
no one really wants this hospital
food its chemicals inside
that make it breathe the bread
is moving if you watch
close enough its heartbeat
in your mouth we are all on
fire this former dead living
animal a baguette string inside
my intestines there are wings
in my salad flapping dead cells
floating and all I can do is be
the sun and burn the whole world
then flush my throat with water
(originally published in Madness Muse Press, Fall 2020)
The Busier the Kitchen the Filthier the Dishes
Your lunch spot becomes a haven on the ground
level of a tower between towers on rainy workdays.
Your eyes strained at the sight of a waterfall
of text and maybe you missed
an important error in copy
marketed to clients. Here, though,
the dishwasher sprays a thousand plates,
aiming spouts at cheese stains hardened
from sitting by the garbage in
the place where discarded trays should be.
Water pressure removes ceramic sin
eventually, an industrial machine
humming in silver efficiency,
skin rinsed beside it.
Glasses that pass the spot test emerge,
steam rising, but meat lodged between
prongs is wrestled out with wet finger.
Your fork drips from the steak
just in a salesman’s mouth.
(originally published in Stickman Review, Spring 2018)
Lunch with an Old Friend
wish I still knew how to talk about games
movies television sports
blue fish waddling onto soil of questions trudges
leaves bodyprints wet move
closer to some common thread we may yet find
yet know a fishing line in the reel of your hand
mouth brain our friendship was incorrigible
as the moon in a poem in a lit mag
super nintendo and the cement unfinished
scent of basements carpeted staircases doritos
always going down down down
affection every thump downward
like the rest of life tumbling
through deserts of thought mist sandstorm
the sun wrangles some truth out of stranded
windows translucent sunlight
shifting across the wooden table
of distance time summers
(originally published in Scarlet Leaf Review, Summer 2018)