fifteen minute socratic seminar in the kwik trip break room

by Max Pearson

what does it mean to love? you're not sure, but he is,
and your phone buzzes with seven-hundred-word-long explanations
of how every soul's got beauty in it. you want to ask,
even mine? you want to ask, does this blue polo make me look fat?
you want, you want, you want. your coworkers say
they've never seen someone your age with so much
work ethic. you pull the skin off chicken tenders
and rip the tendons out, feel flesh resist your fingernails
as you mangle it into resellable shreds. the label machine,
out of paper. a customer hits you with a loaf of bread
because you're out of vanilla ice cream. the cook
wants to know if the purple under your eyes is makeup
or if you just didn't get enough sleep. what does it mean
to be good? you want someone to tell you, so you can get it over
with, initial it off the checklist. what does it mean to have faith?
you stare down at your trash can of dead birds.
the answer's at the bottom. dig in.

Max Pearson is a City College transfer student majoring in education. Her dream is to be an elementary school teacher and a published novelist. When not writing, she can be found embroidering flowers on her sweaters, exploring NYC, or nerding out about historical medicine to anyone who will listen.