Westwind

delivery man

Jessy Zapanta Chua

it just leaves a bad taste in her mouth

like she’s swirling the same spit round and round

little bits between teeth, itching her gums

dry heaving the same leftovers two days in a row

 

they all tell her she deserves something more

than those takeout cartons dripping with grease, or

the last piece of onion lying lonely at the very bottom

so beyond caramelized you can see right through it

 

still pounding into the keypad the same futile digits

squinting to see the coupon blurbs through the smears

looks like another night of the same oily dishes

but at least he’ll be there at the door knocking

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