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The man sitting on the table to my left.
Didn’t make it far
He was knocked out by a flying ketchup.
And with this act,
The war began.
Salt, pepper, mayonnaise, plates, glasses,
They all flew across the diner.
The walls,
Were now a Pollock.
Through the ping-ponging objects
I could see my sweet burger
Resting in the middle
Untouched and juicy.
She is waiting for me.
My turn,
I made the run for it.
My time was limited.
I jumped,
Flew,
Dodged
And ached
Every second I got closer to my burger.
I could smell the pickles inside the hugging bread.
The overflowing ketchup,
The fresh lettuce,
The meat, fresh out of the oven.
I was inches away,
I was about to touch it.
Instead, I watched it fly out the window.
I was hit by the waitress’ tray.
I pushed my burger flying out the window.
I had lost the prize.
The diner froze.
I felt their shadows.
Their penetrating eyes watching me,
With utter disbelief.
Customers left the Pollock room,
Cursing under their breath.
“What a loser”,
They said.
But I was no loser.
In order to be a loser,
I needed to have something.
The burger was never mine,
I simply desired it.
So there I stood,
With my grumbling stomach,
Just like at the beginning
With nothing to lose.