Standing Lunch

The table is buried in medical bills

and a laptop that won't turn on today.

I’m looking for the kind of small thrills

that can keep the afternoon hunger at bay.

I take a peach from the ceramic bowl

and bite until the skin gives way.

It’s too ripe, losing its sugary control,

running down my arm in a sticky spray.

I lean over the stainless steel basin

and watch the pulp catch in the drain.

It’s a messy, quiet, solitary occasion

standing in the kitchen, avoiding the rain.