lunchroom

an angst filled description of my lunchroom

squish. each slurping tongue and looselocked jaw
crunches munches hunches over sweetsalt foods,
warmth and steam streams snake through the air
into their greedy noses mouths squish jaws.
the lights are ugly, a mustard dim,
like moldy caramel, or death of dandelions.
the lighting is not suitable for prime attractiveness.
each dreary mundane munch squish stays small, mute,
like some passive blip overpassing the cool cruel world.
but put together, magnified, pulsified, each little blip
squish comes and swells like a sweaty, hormonal mass
of lumpy frumpy tired fervid teens. a gross sum.
as mashed potato squish and milky ketchup air permeate,
so do the clacks rings dropping tocks of forks
and plates and giggling chirps of flirting girls, opulent and
feminine, then selfsame grunting jumping boys with
slimy food slathered on chins and chubby pale fists in the air.
    the air is dismal.
the carpets the mass pulsates on greys and pinks
and putrid greens, next to golden tables, shiny with polish
and drool. sqeakchairs and bleakhairs, swinging shiny
in healthy hormonal air. squish. the mass moves like
bacteria on a petri dish. squish.