Tonight's Poet Corner: Portobello Sliders
Portobello Sliders
by Belinda Roddie
You broke up with me on a Monday evening
over homemade portobello mushroom sliders,
soggy zucchini, and white wine, stilted
from the hand of summer pressed over my mouth.
You ate three sliders on my Doctor Who-themed plate:
Two with bleu cheese, one with artichoke
and spinach and feta. Arugula drooped
like a sad whisker from your lower lip.
When I was done crying over your confession,
the whole world lurched forward.
Time stopped, but the Youtube video
that were watching kept going.
And the guy making audio commentary
kept laughing about fools
and laughing about "nice guys"
and laughing about Tinder's love stories.
I wish I could have made
you choke on fungus
soaked in soy sauce and olive oil
after punching you in the throat.
by Belinda Roddie
You broke up with me on a Monday evening
over homemade portobello mushroom sliders,
soggy zucchini, and white wine, stilted
from the hand of summer pressed over my mouth.
You ate three sliders on my Doctor Who-themed plate:
Two with bleu cheese, one with artichoke
and spinach and feta. Arugula drooped
like a sad whisker from your lower lip.
When I was done crying over your confession,
the whole world lurched forward.
Time stopped, but the Youtube video
that were watching kept going.
And the guy making audio commentary
kept laughing about fools
and laughing about "nice guys"
and laughing about Tinder's love stories.
I wish I could have made
you choke on fungus
soaked in soy sauce and olive oil
after punching you in the throat.
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