Cramped in that silver
nook by the kitchen

was how not to know me.
The panini-maker pressed

pitas onto various vegetables
that were consumed and

capitalized. Chickpeas
churning in the high-

grade processor (with
special red spice).

Carrots in the juicer,
bananas in the blender,

hearts on dark trays headed
to tables by the window

overlooking the snow-
plowed parking lot. I dropped

wine glasses all week
and would you agree

it was too much when
the army came in

to sweep glass
off the floor?

(originally published in Stick Figure Poetry Quarterly, Spring 2023)