I like how the uniform yins and yangs: white’s reserve tucked into affable black. And the knot at the collar? The sly leash for self-tugging? Our thin necks spared us, our thick skins. Not mine. What am I having? What have you had? Ambition. I loved the delusion, although the Ahi tuna costs less if you get it in a sandwich. Get it. I'll get us more coffee. Why wait when you know where it's hidden? That freestanding woman who will take our order reminds me of our stay in Lower Bohemia... She's caught us with the coffee pot. ...the assumption of latitude, the abhorrence of perimeters... LoBo isn't a destination, it's a state of semi-consciousness. Are you telling me to wake up? Always. Listen. The man at the next table is crowing about starving to death. I always found that phrase offensive. He wants extra butter but the sauce on the side. S.O.S. Same old song. If the waitress gives him the finger, it won't be to tide him over. She’s doing it behind his back! Bravo. Remember when we thought it noble, feeding the fed?
M. Nasorri Pavone’s poems have appeared in The Cortland Review, River Styx, New Letters, Harpur Palate, The Midwest Quarterly, DMQ Review, La Fovea, Quiddity and elsewhere. She also writes plays. Her latest, Feeding Time celebrated its world premiere at the 2012 Hollywood Fringe Festival. She is a graduate of the University of California at Los Angeles and lives in Venice, California.
