Meat Packing

The room is lit by match heads
the size of pingpong balls. When struck,
the sulfur flares are immense and stunning.
I poke at the cognac-colored
wingtip bimorals and finger the blue
silk tie with a silent sense of awe.
Please, take note of the pea green
wall and wonder who had the time to do that.
Feel the cushions on the plush wingback
chair quiver under your ass. Listen, as lush birds deliver
remarkable songs in chirp patterns
that are both complex and soothing. The coffee
is mind blowing. Most of the people
walking by outside look like humans.
The angle of light across the table
doesn't even make me want to take a photo of it.
Air conditioners humming outside windows
sound ruthless and determined. Gradually
some doubts and worries seep into the room
like smoke being blown through a napkin.
In other news: Thursday.