Sometimes, the corked rage inside my chest threatens to reveal the beast who lives there.


And sometimes, I’ve caught myself in contemplation of random acts of violence, yet I hold it in. In silence.

I’ll smile. And when she asks if I’d like more coffee, I’ll imagine easing  the pot from her hands and pouring it down her front, starting at her well-peeking cleavage, down her no-stains-yet apron, right down to her brand new Avia’s…”Ooopsie,” I’ll bat my lashes.

But no, I’ll just smile. And nod.

And then, when I catch him smiling at her, and her nervously tucking her hair behind her ear and looking at the floor and then looking at him, smiling, and then looking at me and asking if I would like more coffee, —

I snap.

I stand, reach for her. Tackle. Score! I’m in love with the soft rigidity of her neck between my palms.

Her screams, those she is able to allow to escape, bounce like Jello off the walls. Red. And green. A juicy rainbow.

Heads make funny hollow-type noises on this type of tile. 

I reach for my blade. But then- no. To acknowledge this beast, to let him loose, to give him this creative license, poetic as it is…That would unleash a reign of terror so bizarre that I don’t believe I would look at donuts the same way again. And I do so love the custard-filled with chocolate icing. Not the creme-filled so much, but the custard.

So I just smile. And nod.

“Sure, warm it up a bit,” I say.

But sometimes…


One thought on “Coffee-

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