Grease and Regret

I bit down—

salty stew slick and heavy

like a mistake that sticks in the throat.

The neon buzzed,

the tray was stained,

paper napkin crumpled like a failed excuse,

while a glass half-full of water

sat like silence

next to the mess.

I swallowed, hard,

the taste hanging sharp,

a sore thumb

against my tongue’s quiet plea.

The plate sat empty

but the regret

kept filling the room,

a weight heavier than hunger,

and I wanted only to leave

without a word.