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Postmodern Village
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angel, you want some bacon?
by Francine DuBois

she is six inches from his face,
eyes glaring into his tight little pupils.
"i don't eat pork," she grimaces
through clenched teeth.
"it's slimy, just like you."

and she lets him go, lets
go of the gaze she held
with fury and indignation,
lets go of his Waffle House
uniform, and he slumps off
to make hashbrowns
scattered and covered
with cheese and shame.

 

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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