The First One

Watch as the fingernail traces
Every slight wrinkle on her lip
As they pucker to suck in the strand of spaghetti
Ready when you are, everyone
Everyone is busy, it seems

“Tell me again,” she says, in a voice most unlike her
“Elephantine floating blobs oozing one collaborative egg sac.”
“l never said that,” I admonish, using a straw for my Jell-o
“l never did.”
My slurping must be getting on her last nerve
“Elephantine,” she says again,
“You told me about it, happening somewhere over Atlanta.”
“Oh, you mean Atlantis,” I correct, flexing my arm.
Until that moment, she never truly understood the word Elephantine.

I doubted it would cause her harm
Not after she ate all that ham
Although the rest of the patrons had no escape
Crushed between the walls and my ever-expanding skin
Our date was deemed a disaster, and I had to sleep on the cot.


About paulgude

Paul Gude writes small books, makes stupid music, draws silly pictures, and does weird things on stage.
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