"Salad", a poem.
Salad. This is easier than I expected. You now only want to have dinner with me once every five or six months. Last time, you tried to argue about what counts as a Caesar salad. What a relief that we have let go to this degree, each freeing up important seats at the other’s table You deserve to have more fun and I deserve the art, nutrition, the dog This is key growth, something actually sustainable Far better than ignorant insults at a small glass table. 2.25.25 (I'll come back to this piece sometime for edits)