Sweet Sweet Spite — a poem.

Photo by on

I want to plunge my fingers

Into stale bread

Peel out the innards

Shove it to my tongue

Three or four bites

It’s night, the market closes

Cupcakes in the bins

Icing smeared on shoes

Seagulls scrapping

Kicking kids

Man beat on the corner

Baguette bruises

I’m responsible for closing

Up his shop

Up his zipper

Up his bloody upper scruff

Dough rising

Seawater climbing

Wet on wet sliding

Split yolk shining

He’s diving, I’m frying

Oiling it, spoiling it,

Scouring it,

Soft-slap flouring it —

Body breaks like bread.