New in Town
A man handed me a knife,
smiled, tipped his cap, then disappeared
down the street.
The air smelled sweet.
I tripped & fell on the grass,
slid ten feet, the lawn
not a lawn, but sheet cake
frosted green.
I stabbed my knife
into the mailbox—chocolate cream.
The neighbor’s dog—
red velvet posing
as a husky.
Every branch of every tree—sleeved
in brown fondant.
I could take a piece
of anything, taste
everything.
I sliced the headlight from the Tesla
parked in the driveway,
stuffed my face.
Men
in their fedoras, wives
in white, ruffled dresses
watched me:
the only one
eating.