Robert Beveridge
Have we eaten? It’s time
for the movie but it feels
like there is an emptiness
behind my ribcage as large
as the gap between the eye
and the screen. We see
images of senryu, flashed
too fast to read, as the odor
of seafood left out just a few
minutes too long wafts
over us. Whose idea was it
to get ceviche sold
from the trunk of a ‘74
Gran Torino, anyway? We
look forward to the credits.