I looked her in her eyes.
I let them roll off of my puckered lips.
I let myself spew out the rancid taste.
The foul words festering in the gaps between my teeth.
No amount of slaps to the back of the hand could amount to
the mess I had sparked while standing in line
armed with a lopsided vanilla cone in the
middle of the notorious Hometown Buffet.
I warmed her up first. A few compliments always did the trick.
“I like yer dan-glee ear’ngs!”
But even the sweetest of candies can have sharp edges.
And I let the words ooze out of my mouth,
slither their way into her ears.
I wonder to this day if she recalls me,
as the girl with the twisted mouth
who stood proudly with her vanilla cone
deeming her as