The toothpick, an implement for picking food
lodged between incisors, canines, molars,
sorority of chompers.
I joined Marilyn and Lorraine at Rosemary’s Restaurant,
20th and 1st. I floated there in a river of
cruciferous vegetables suspended in turnip juice.
We ordered Harvest Salad
butternut squash, subdued pumpkin orange,
vertiginous brussel sprouts, sliced red-skinned apples,
crunch crunch, spiced pumpkin seeds topped off lunch.
Marilyn to me: I don’t like your picking your teeth in public.
You can go to the bathroom
and DO IT!
Hurtful-belittling-audacious.
I was silent for minutes. Why quiet? she asked. I resent, I said,
then pretended all was fine, grabbed a cab, smoldered
like a burning blanket bundled in a roiling tantrum.
Ms.-Appearances-Driven-Marilyn,
I am not a three chambered-stomach ruminant
chewing and rechewimg my cud.
You do not glare down into my gut
view it in wide Dolby cinema projection.
Better to shoot down your words, one by one
in mid-air‘s $28 lunch hunt at Rosemary’s Rest
So Suck it up!
Kick covers off at 3:30 a.m.
Is rage red? I will duck
for apples, bite deeply to draw crimson blood,
will not coat the fruit with candied caramel
to sweeten what stinks already.
I shared names: cataract surgeon, dentist, accountant,
urged Access-a-Ride for better mobility in NYC.
She applied. Success.
Sent exercise sheets to strengthen her ailing
back and hips. She walks with a cane. Add disablement
to those flapping lips.
Stick the pick in her eye.
Retina specialist required.
I don’t have one to recommend.
Marilyn is off my list.
Paula Praeger is an artist and a writer. Her prints have been exhibited in the United States and abroad and she has contributed artwork to various literary magazines. Her poems have been published in journals such as Hindsight, Cancer, Months to Years, Close Up, and Visible Ink Anthologies.