I scan the room,
assuring the absence
of hearts and flowers,
and sit crosslegged
on the edge of the bed.
A pile of crackers
are balanced on one knee,
looking almost ready to fall.
I pick one up, bite in
and hear the soft crunch
amplified inside my skull
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
like a thousand soldiers crossing a bridge.
The buttery salty taste of the cracker
piggybacks on the dry feeling
as it spreads through my mouth.
Crumbs fall
like tiny flakes of snow.
I shovel them away
with an idle swipe of my hand.
I take a drink
flooding away the dry saltiness
and start again.
Lawrence R. Daffner, 2/94