A takeout box, a small  gesture of affection 
      Upended   with grains  of rice spilling out  like  your guts 
  Rotten with venom when you get angry. You split open- your mouth and your stomach- and I can see the heaving fleshy masses wet with blood and buzzing with insects laying eggs in the grooves.  I stare at it, mesmerized, as you lecture about how people don’t like to be ignored. People don’t like to be yelled at.   It takes Guts   To be so mean. It’s like you forgot how to show care  other  than through food-  The basics of what to provide your   children with  the  shallow  language      of      

                                                                 money .

                 Lately,    I’ve only    talked  to             you from   across                                                    a                         restaurant   table  .

                                                                         What             a                waste    .