Travis Leland lives and writes in Llano, California. He received his B.A. in English, Creative Writing (Poetry) from the University of California, San Bernardino.

Sunday Evening
By Travis Leland

She looks at me through cookie-crumble
mouthface while jazz snapping her fingers
as I eye the rockstar next to me at the
dinner table.

I dab my crust of bread into chilly pork
grease and wipe my mouth with the back
of my hand because I hate napkins so very
much; I really do.

So the rockstar calls my name and wants
me to go drinking with him and we
dance for hours under the buzzing light
of a solitary snapping bulb.

Pink carnations dapple my view of her, as
she leans in to speak with the bald man
with the tentacle moustache.

At the end I collapse redfaced into my
chair with a volume of Norse as I retire to
Hotel Nirvana.