The Big Cheese

At battle with a frozen pizza,

it threatens to withhold

information about the big cheese.

I am grateful not to be in his presence.

Delusional and pathetic,

I take off the crust slowly

and put it aside for later.

It’s a snowstorm.

There are Dunhill’s

on the dining room table.

I get sick when I smoke

but it feels good

to make circles on my tongue

pretending to be a caricature of January.

No one cares, really.

There’s no matter about who sits

on the train next to me

eating a deli sandwich with his pointy teeth.

There is no use in pretending

that the big cheese really exists.

© 2013 d.c.p.