Death by Food

Death By Food
Dishes are done, floor is swept. The dog has her food and water.
I look at the clock, he should have been home an hour ago.
The cold pizza hits my lips and I inhale.
 
I should get dinner ready.
Porkchops, mashed potatoes, and gravy.
He walks in drunk with white in the corners of his lips.
I can smell her through the booze.
He goes to bed. I make me a plate for two.
 
I walk past the mirror as I head to bed.
Round. The only shape I see is ROUND.
Why is round so invisible?
 
I lie in bed, ignoring the stench next to me.
Imagining I am someone else.
I grab the candy bar from the nightstand.
I inhale and fall asleep.
 
Daddy NO, please don’t hit me! I didn’t mean it!
Warm tears wake me from the memory.
The refrigerator light is blinding in the night.
 
I caught him cheating again.
He took me to Red Lobster,
He promised he wouldn’t do it again.
 
Home alone. That same mirror.
I glance at my reflection as I walk by.
Round. A pizza is round.
I pick up the phone.
 
I drempt of myself cutting.
Dragging the blade along my forearm.
The cop asked “why do you do it?”
I said, “it makes me feel better.”
 
The scale screamed at me.
333.
Round. Such a round number.
A burger is round,
I inhale as the burger touches my lips.
 
The doctor told me if I don’t lose weight I will die.
I picture myself in a coffin.
Would my coffin be.
ROUND.