Good Grief: At lunch

A poem by Isabella Triana

You’re reading Good Grief. We’re glad you’re here. Here’s this week’s original poem:

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At lunch

A static sour scent riots 
Quietly, spreads its thick film of ick 
All over the afternoon
All over all of it
A sheet of sweet acid 
Stomached 
In each of us, 
A fixed capacity 
For happiness

After that, all upward 
motion is interference
Between you and your 
Capacity, which is to say 
Whatever happens
Next will bury you 
In it, all over 
The afternoon 

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