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.