Infinite Monkey

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The Salted Lips of Regret

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Salted Lips of regretAn acquaintance posts:

“Just dreamed that I was at an awards ceremony. When my book didn’t win, I scooped up as many potato chips as I could carry in my arms and walked out.”

I think

“Seriously, smart move

— the potato chips are better than any old award

that will just sit around collecting dust.

You can’t drown your sorrows in an award

(mostly because with an award

— what sorrows could you possibly have, right?)”

Award or no

You cannot find the same serenity

as in that meditative crunch

each crispy fried leaf of potato

releasing pockets of greasy deep-sea brined elixir

both temporarily brightening your outlook

and exciting your taste buds — with possibilities

until dizzy

with the hypnotic rhythm of your jaw’s syncopation

you reach for another,

finding only emptiness, save for

crowded corners, slick with sweated fragments

you press the pads of your puckered fingertips inside

drawing dusty salted remnants out into the light

and then onto the dark caress of your tongue, working them free

and leaving your fingers slick, eager to explore the bag once again

Finally, released from its hold

not a single crumb has escaped

the hunger of your humiliation

the disappointment of a loser

the shame of an empty bag

and the oil drenched shimmer of your salt-puffed lips.

—Vanessa Nix Anthony

August 27, 2013

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Written by Rainee Squatch

August 31, 2013 at 8:55 pm

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