Bitter Crust

Pie at the bar, under sick fluorescent light,

the crust bitter in my mouth,

sticky crumbs clinging

like old regrets I didn’t chew through.

I bit too hard—felt the crack

where sweetness should have lived,

remembered youth’s careless hunger,

now dulled, wary, and sharp.

The plate chipped, fluorescent buzzing,

the flavor fell flat,

like promises I swallowed whole once,

now twisted, bitter, and cold.

Taste changes like the city’s mood—

sweetness lingers a moment,

then leaves you with the aftertaste

of what’s lost and what lingers.