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Roasted
Patterned lives like cooking recipes
That Mom went all the way to the deli
To satisfy
And Grandma says the roast doesn’t taste quite right
And sometimes
They forget you excused yourself twenty three minutes ago
You hate the way you identify with
That trash Quinn listens to on the radio
And those ugly boots you bought that everyone hates
But you like the wrinkled noses
And there’s always hours of dishes to do
Even though you didn’t eat anything—
Not like Quinn
Who throws up after
On the white floors Grandma just paid to get retiled
Sparkling white squares that she just soils
Like everything else
Humans are social creatures
So what does that make you?
Gremlin, goblin, creature of the night
Like vampires they suck you dry
Of all ambition or emotion
Everything butchered on that tiled floor
Just like Quinn’s dinner.
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