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the unseenthe unseen Posts: 372
edited October 2003 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
the sounds of lunchtime
fill the room
glasses clink
silverware scrapes against plates
laughter
talk
tears
whispers
mix as one
the cash register rings a sale
chairs slide against the floor
a table fills
a table empties
a man belches
his aprroval of the meal
the bell above the door jingles
another patron steps inside
she brings dessert
a special dish she made herself
looking at the lunch crowd
she takes a breath then swallows
as the hostess comes to offer a seat
she serves her dish of hatred
the explosion rips the room
the diners feast
from this buffet of death
a specialty in the middle east
please dont tip the waitress
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • women don't sweat
    they perspire
    women don't die
    they expire
    women don't blast
    other people in fire
    women birth
    men sire

    so why would she don a dress of plastiques?
    for forty sweet wives at the eternal feast?
    or was she just trying to break through god's glass ceiling?





    cwazy chick...
    Nosotros nunca escuchamos la voz adentro
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