"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)

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