2 Poems
by Michael Prihoda
Food
play at being
more whole
than a fully
stocked aisle.
play at being
more full
than factory-
coded picture
frames. you
ingest so
much gristle
it’s wonder
how you
shave away
all but
marrow.
Narrow
and we
or you
or i
or us
or them
are supposed
to like it this way
and we do
for a time
until we see
the way it is actually
and forget to breathe
until we breathe
for finding some air, some brush,
some time to make this right again.
Michael Prihoda is a writer, editor, and teacher from Indianapolis, IN. He is the editor of the literary magazine and small press After the Pause. Publications of poetry, flash fiction, and art have appeared in Potluck, Rasasvada, Pretty Owl Poetry, and Spelk Fiction, among other locales. He is also the author of two chapbooks and five poetry collections, the most recent of which is The First Breath You Take After You Give Up (Weasel Press, 2016).
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