#27 Broadway
By Jessica Antonio
Eating an orange should be a solitary act
the way you peel back mottled folds
stain fingers with pith
annex sticky sweet quarters
But you sit
on the margins of #27
too close to the driver
in a purple velour tracksuit,
ineffective against the -22,-42 with windchill prairie afternoon
(only cold if you are new to Saskatchewan winters, otherwise you are not entitled to complain)
palming the orange
listening to tori amos as she was in her crazy years
1. He thinks they must have met once at the liquor commission, cringes at the rosacea that sprawls across her face
You feel his gaze,
uncomfortably shift the bulk of your weight to the crackling “mr. zebra”
& absent-mindedly allow a thumb to press into the peel, right at its centre
2. He holds up a pair of knit reindeer-patterned mittens.
‘They are too small for my hands, he says, and I am wrecking the thumb. Here, take them.’
You pull worn
99 cent purple gloves from your pocket
stretch fabric over sticky hands, expose a hole between thumb and forefinger.
Rush the exit when the bell rings,
four stops too early.
Jessica Antonio hasn't slept in years.
Published On: February 14, 2008
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/080214a.htm
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