Sea Salt

He promises
to bring me a cheeseburger
at 10:34 p.m.
My gut aches,
I haven’t eaten anything
since earlier this afternoon.
So I start putting away my books,
and taking coffee cups into the kitchen sink.
I shake out my bedding,
brush my teeth.

An hour later
I’m still waiting.
Changed my pajamas three times.
My toes are freezing.
My neighbors keep hitting the wall
we share
and with each knock
my ears perk up in this
really pathetic way.

Christ I’m fucking hungry.

One hour thirty minutes.
There’s this comfort I find
in really awful television,
but when I roll over
and watch it on my side,
an image of my pureed brain leaking
onto my pillow
starts to distract me.

I’m that kind of girl
who puts makeup on
to lie in bed all day.
I color coordinate my pajamas.
I run up the electricity bill
by leaving on the lights in my apartment,
so he won’t have to search
for the switch
when he gets here.

Two hours.
I have class in the morning.

Fuck,
I’m on a diet anyway.