The week of the spaghetti dinners
Was drawing to a close
I didn't know what sin I had committed
to deserve this
I guess getting fed 7 days in a row
Was nothing to
complain about
But so much spaghetti
In more varieties
than I thought possible
Every
single night
Each
one more horrifying
Than
the night before
I felt bad,
but this time was
different
This time the bad was more physical
More intrusive
Than
a simple dislike
The last installment had been the most
evil
As I came to the end of the second
serving
I saw it . . .
Mold on the noodles
This wasn't going to be good
It didn't hit right away
But it did hit . . . Hard
The first manifestation was from below
As all contents of my intestines
And of every other
part of my body
Pushed out into the septic system
Of suburban Rancho Cucamonga
And yet I was not finished
As I sat and moaned the night away
Grasping my stomach
praying
for death
As the clock struck 2 am I left my bed
Strolled out to the balcony
On the second floor of the apartment
Hoping the cool air would do some good
Reclining on the
plastic furniture
Beholding
the vastness
Of
the firmament above
As the machinations proceed in the
course
That would conclude
this horrific episode
Then suddenly all the cylinders
Dropped forcefully into
place
It was a signal that could not be
mistaken
My only option was to grasp the
railing
And let the flood
depart
Feeling like first Chinese brother
Holding the sea in my
mouth
I
also could not contain it forever
So it fell, like thousands of skinny
worms
Over the edge
Into
the bushes below
Wave
upon wave,
Relentless
and repulsive
Until I was finally released from its
grasp
Allowed to retain my life
Even as my dinner departed violently
I collapsed back into my chair
Again looking at the
stars in a daze
Feeling a different kind of bad
Related to what the
grounds keepers would find
As
they trimmed the hedge
In
the morning
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