Ramekin
I'm listening to some static;
a singer stuck on a broken veranda
spitting at an emerald eyed fly on her forearm.
She and I watch him, thumb and finger roll
inch strips of panini into skin marbles
and flick roll them around the rim
of the wide white dish.
She sings to me that I am more,
and so I say so,
holding up my hoola hoop ringed fingers,
putting on a perfect puppet show.
The woman behind us catches
some quiet lettuce on her voice box
and delicately into her handkerchief
coughs up everything that is wrong.
Suddenly it's a conversational cheeseboard.
I etiquette cheek pop cherry tomatoes
nipple tweak the pepper sell
watch him palm stroke the table leg
and thank god for starters.
