2020-03-24T18:17:13-07:00August 5th, 2016|Musings on life|

Cake at midnight

It’s almost midnight
and the hotel room
has the charm
of a dorm
but it’s clean
and I appreciate
the little bottles
because I haven’t had time
to buy my own shampoo
for years

I tell my body
it’s time to sleep
but it doesn’t believe me

like an elastic band
I have stretched myself
across states
and time zones
and despite trying to grip the ground
I keep snapping back

I’m not hungry
but I don’t feel complete
because dinner
was lunch
after all

I scan the room service menu
like a lazy lion
might drool his gaze
across the plains

warm lava cake

I know I will have it
as soon as I read the part
about the caramel sauce
even while I try to convince myself
it’s wrong

like those places up north
in summer
where the sun refuses
to clamber back down
at the end of a day
making the middle of night
bright and strange

but I hit the button anyways
and a man with an accent
takes my order

I immediately want to cancel it
or call back and tell him
to leave it outside
the door

but there he is

he’s in his seventies
and his uniform
is wrinkled

I tell him to leave it
by the TV
which feels worse somehow
and I give him a big tip
but still he looks at me

I know he is wondering
if I am bulimic
or crazy
or both

wow I’ll never finish that

I blurt out
with an awkward laugh
and we both look at the pool
of caramel and the perfect
dollop of fudge on top
and I know
that he knows
I am lying

you deserve it

he says
in his swirly accent
and after he left
and I lay
beside the empty plate
on the clean white bed
doing nothing
and remembering
how much I miss
the space between
the noise

I wonder
how he knew.

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