Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Poetry Burrito

Thirty people chew
On catered trays of lunch
Before they even open their mouths

Polite closed mouths
Move from side to side
Move up and down

Eyes open wide
Make contact
Say, Hello

Ordered in a circle
They finally speak
Hands wet with nervous sweat
Hands wet with name brand mayonnaise

Having put their sandwiches down
Having pushed aside their bowls
Cheeks red like those of a clown
They rhyme, rhyme aloud of souls

Every moment is a poem
When written down
Just a passing instance
When left alone to die — discuss

They put the corpse upon the table
Picking apart the turn of a phrase
Dissecting stanzas in a poem
Cutting with scalpels in search of its soul

Sorting their refuse
Paper plates go here
Empty cans of pop go there
Organic waste in the middle hole
The herd files out under the red glow of EXIT