incisors bared
when the waiter nears
like my drumming fingers are hardly enough
to tell you I’m ready
there’s blood on the menu
splattered in angry loops
like join-the-dots
my table manners are flawed these days
I can’t stamp out these bad habits
when my knuckles crack I’m mortified
and beg for more sangria
salt and pepper and bubbling
red glory adorns the table
in silence we eat and throw sideways glances
at the crimson, flowing
blood
which pools
#365DaysOfPoetry