Lunch Poem #2

By Rebecca L. Morrison

The first time I wrote about lunch I talked

about the same stir-fry every time, and today

is just another stir-fry, and last night

was just another stir-fry, which I ate on my

frameless mattress, waiting for you to open

the door so I could ignore you until you

wandered to find me, which you didn't,

and after five minutes of your kitchen grocery

rustling, I wandered to find you, and you asked

me why I'd waited so long to tell you I was

there in our space. Now I munch my stir-fry, and

the folks traipsing in from outdoors are all wet,

and I call you to ask if there's rain where you are,

and you tell me you're dry and you'll be home late,

and that this weekend we will go to the state fair.