Listen to this poem using the player above.
The first two lines of this poem (and thus, the title) were suggested by my friend Kim, to whom the poem is dedicated. Thanks, Kim.
convenience store sushi
(for Kim S.)
convenience store sushi
and vegetable chips
that’s what’s left
the kind of lunch you bring
when you’ve got no ideas
when all you can think to do is listen
looking down at the clear plastic container
with its fake lawn, greener than the one
on either side of your fence
time was you would have shared
the warm pieces of tuna and salmon
offered each other the last piece of
California roll, but today
she’s not hungry, sits with her hands
folded in her lap, talks in a low voice
so the people on the next bench over
don’t hear the world break
she’s done you that courtesy, at least
when it’s over – really over –
the sushi looks like modeling clay
you can’t even think of eating it
later a bird will pick the contents
of the package out of a wire trash basket
stuck to the top of the container
a note reading: we need to talk
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