Pork Rinds

a Poem by Raquel Swann

 

It’s a torture,

listening to your lips

smack together

and your teeth grind

as if you were chewing

on bones.

MUNCH – CRUNCH – MUNCH – CRUNCH

We sit eight feet apart

but your snacking has

invaded my territory

collapsed my will

drove me to the brink.

I leave my cubicle

plotting, planning

on how I can attach

a feedbag to your face

without losing my job.

 

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