It Was Good In Theory

(Prose poem)

It Was Good In Theory

The micro-waved leftovers make my teeth bounce like acorns on a trampoline. The candelabra is overpowering and creating empty holes where your eyes should be. The steak tips are tires in my mouth and the gravy is chalk stuck in the crevices of my teeth. The peas I control on my plate are lost BBs. Separated in battle from their general and now POWs on my fork. Your V-day dinner should be recalled. This music must be a sick joke as your favorite Nine Inch Nails song plays on your stereo. I launch a pea in my mouth and it almost cracks my tooth. The romantic mood has fallen out like the aftermath of atomic warfare. My hair is my protection from your gaze. My brow, from this angle, nearly perfect McDonald’s arches as the eyebrow hair distorts my view of you. I drink the wine that is as pink as a pencil’s eraser. Tastes of water and rubbing alcohol. You really spent too much on me darling. Boxed wine doesn’t come cheap. The only salt my food receives is from the tear that falls onto the mashed potatoes and is quickly absorbed by the parched spuds.