Masticating noise

He chews slow,

slow like the last drop of rain sliding down glass.

Crack of toast,

rough edges catching on the teeth,

a sound too close, a rhythm too loud.

I want to look away,

but my ears catch every crumb breaking,

a quiet fury in the kitchen’s morning.

Crust crumbles like dry bones

and I count the seconds between bites,

tense and waiting for it to stop,

but it doesn’t.

The chewing fills the air,

hollow, relentless,

a reminder of all the small noises

I’d rather forget.