6.03.2008

Untitled

by Tom Meek
83 words


Peas, capers, chunks of carrots and chicken, it looks like chicken pot pie. Red wine, no trace of the white or the martini, only the pate of a green olive and a pimento' red tail. Duck pate. I see it. Couscous, rosemary and crème Brule, you fed me well. All I did was sit there and gorge, you in your dress, me in my suit. This was to be our night, but I was a pig and took it all, even you. Vomit.





Tom Meek is a writer living in Cambridge, MA. He teaches fiction writing to youths and reviews films for the Boston Phoenix.

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