The First Bite

The pizza was a molten sheet.

I was too tired and had to eat.

Now the roof of my mouth is gone

and I’m just trying to carry on.

I run my tongue across my teeth

and feel the peeling skin beneath.

It’s rough and strange, a foreign land

I didn’t quite have well in hand.

I took a sip of gin and lime

to pay for my impatient crime.

The salt hit every tender spot

and reminded me of what I’m not.