I was the table

By: Aubry Snow

Dime store diner girl college town slew of

drunk idiots babbling ‘bout frats and fears and

“Can I have another side of feta?”

My grin bloomed like the grease on their faces as they ate.

I’m a glutton for observation.

Black and white tiles alternating, a grimy, deteriorating vestige of the 50s. Big neon sign a stamp branded to my eyelids, my ugly moon. 12 hour shift, feet

cracking, legs fat and swollen.

I might have liked some roller blades,

bejeweled with bayonets to flay the creeps.

I was taking an order for a couple once

a shadow walking past, a hand on my ass.

The entirety of my right butt cheek.

Doe-frozen, eyes wide, and reeling

strained in a hollowed sound scene. I was there

but hollow too, safety sucked from my body.

Too many men to know, to point the

fingered gun and say “HIM!”

I sunk like poppies or tulips inside myself

suppressed a cry, no - a hideous battle screech,

a tearing, reserved for vultures or tigers or raptors.

Would you like a milkshake with that, I asked.

I can still hear their coins fall

One by one like daggers to the place

where they ate. I was the table.

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Aubry Snow is a data analyst at a large tech company. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Advertising and a Master of Science degree in Analytics. She resides in the mountains of Colorado with her partner and two cats. This is her first published work.