charcoal on paper, 2010

I stare at my milk carton on the plastic bench top.

To my right is a white wall,
To my left is space and then some
rowdy Pac Suns at the end of the table.
FAGGOT.
They cheer and punch each other.
I listen to their triumphant stories.
I compare their beef to my peas.
SUCK IT, BRO.
Already I feel the familial communion,
even though Dev, Chad, and Jack
don’t even know my name.
I’m sure they hear the echos of their own laughter,
but I haven’t yet earned the edge
of the Table.