our fast casual happiness

I went to dinner on Tuesday
Even though I wasn’t hungry
And hadn’t been for months
Or years
To peel the scab from a ketamine hole
That craved the polluted air meant for the ceiling of that restaurant
And routinely bled into the carpeted underbelly of our town
Lubricating our feet
That craved whatever was below the asphalt
Or just momentary relief from depletion
Or the blood from that unhealing wound reminded us of home

Sometimes I’d pulverize my hands
Until there was no bone
And no prospect of creation
And hoped they cooked quickly on the flat top grill
With malt liquor fajitas
And humanely butchered prescription pills
That marbled our flesh
In preparation for our own unceremonious slaughter
And I hoped that my preparation would be in a crock pot
Set to keep warm
So that no one really noticed if they were consuming or not
And my legacy was as forgettable as a seasonal appetizer

Other times I sat and wondered why I hadn’t passed that kidney stone
Or why I didn’t cry at that funeral
Or why I had found myself on a missing person shirt
At a neglected thrift store
And wondered how long I’d been gone