The Cheese Salad
seems to speak to me.
‘Cheese Salad’
The letters look desolate
and unhealthy,
Alone on the menu
which glows with
Bad light.
I wonder when was the last time
Someone ordered the
Cheese Salad.
The menu itself
looks old,
Used,
Hanging above the counter,
A banner that hasn’t been taken down
even though the party was years ago.
Everything could just be
bony remains.
The Cheese Salad,
an attempt at health
in this dank meat house.
I don’t get it,
The Cheese Salad.
Who would?
From a place like this?
What I get is a mess of
Brown fiborous meat,
Stringy salad coated
In thin mayonaisse,
Like bird shit
In hair,
and
Shrivelled,
Destitute
Yellow chillis.
Still, I look at the word
‘Cheese Salad’ as I leave.
After tonight,
After saying goodbye,
Knowing the horrible truth,
After all this,
I look at the words on the menu,
Alone, unloved.
