she eats standing up, defiant to whom?

wrestling seating options, just a few meters away

she is stuck in place, picking, convincing

herself it’s to be near the seasoning

but there’s so much coarse pepper, that excuse

will never do

she'd tried using small shakers, white owls, ceramic,

keeping them near her favorite seat

and table,

but that was when she still cared, back in January,

when we all care

oh so much about who we think that year we shall be,

now it’s all crumbs beneath phantom obesity, visions of indigestion

mentally boxed, ribboned in black grosgrain, sent on one way tracks

—this is what the kind doctor recommended to her mother;

anxiety express, a remedy

                     ‘how many boxes made in a day?’

                     ‘oh, innumerable, but the wrapping gets quicker each time’

maybe if she jogs in place it’ll register as intentionally insane

maybe if she gets roaches it’ll teach her

maybe—on a better day—she’ll wait ‘til she’s fucking seated