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Description
A cafeteria.
Yellow walls, people talking, food smells.
It’s good.
I stand at the register, waiting for the money
to go through.
Staring at the family’s tray: cheeseburger, chicken, fries, pasta
and
chicken soup.
The bill is paid, I reach for the tray,
scanning the crowd for a table.
When.
All of a sudden.
The tray clatters to the floor
pasta, yellow-orange on grey tiles.
A high voice, a hoarse voice,
shouting, swearing
(I later found out it was me)
Running, crashing,
into a bathroom stall.
With shaking hands I take wet paper
and peel off my white pants
to dab at the angry red flesh,
burned there.