Eating Broccoli, 6 p.m.

by Houghton Piker

EATING broccoli, 6 p.m.
It sits in front of me
A stinking, felled forest
Not even the cheese amuses me

Eating broccoli, 6:35 p.m.
The cheese has turned dark and cold
Like my mother's heart
I am not allowed to leave the table
for apparently ever

Eating broccoli, 7:42 p.m.
The kitchen echoes with my disgust
Mother is a fat ugly hag

Eating broccoli, 8:15 p.m.
I hear SpongeBob's voice
calling me from the livingroom
and for the first time in my life
I cannot answer
The tears come

Eating broccoli, 8:22 p.m.
In my delirium I imagine giants
with green afros and teeth
sharp teeth and they are chewing at my legs
But it is only the dog,
who does not like broccoli either

Eating broccoli, 9:47 p.m.
My father ends the ordeal
and sends me to bed
He wants to watch the Spice Channel
and does not want me downstairs

Originally published in Aphros.

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