Magazine article National Forum

Beluga with a Knife and Fork

Magazine article National Forum

Beluga with a Knife and Fork

Article excerpt

She ate like a cramped bird,

a pterodactyl attacking potato skins,

until her head reared back,

as if she'd swallowed the lemon

scent of Pine Sol. She was the woman

on the aisle flying into the sun

over the plain states at dinner time.

I was the listener in the window-seat,

demanding that she dish out the bitter

seeds of her life, her most repulsive

embarrassing moments. We pass through

another time zone, reminiscent of altitudes.

No telling how many pills were swallowed,

nor how much wine spoon-fed over small talk.

Like a familiar waitress she served me

tennis elbow and knees shot to hell, from violent

Latin hoof beats. She took shameless hours

to page through a child's book about a dog. While the clocks practice

hand signals on the far edge of each time zone,

we were menu driven to feed each other morsels

about the dancing pain of divorce, the want of sleep

and how much we'd like to mute

the yammering fools in front of us. …

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