COLD FISH
by Prathna Lor

I think about my ears and cover
them with my palms
so I can only hear the sound of myself
chewing a Ritz cracker. Occasionally

your voice will filter through the sound
of my bottom molar touching my top molar
on the left side of my jaw
and I will look at you with desperation,

a face that says, 'I'm not going to consider
solutions for this complication, I don't care
what happens next,' and you'll get up
and walk toward the edge of a forest and insert
your head into it, waiting for a wild animal
to smell, and be repulsed by your cheap shampoo.

I can only think of several instances
where a spoon has ever saved my life. One being

the time I stuck a small one into an electric outlet
because I wanted to avoid an evening
soiree with you and your friends
who never get drunk enough.

I feel happier now, now
that I can sit in a chair all day
and never have my ass experience
the pinpricks which occur when you're trying
to increase the blood flow
in a numb ligament.