Lunchroom Chatter Charlie

She gets her jollies from standing in front of the mirror Playing with her headlights, pretending she is not feeling herself up. I am shocked. This is his mother he is talking about right? Oh, his sister. Okay. Better…. I try to write another sentence, but cannot think. And that crazy Erin. She is a nut-bucket. She paints her skin. She puts flecks of red on her wrists, and tells people she cut herself. The closest she ever gets to a knife is at breakfast and it has marmalade on it. I wish he would talk at someone else, but I am the only one here, trying to be alone. I am only half listening to him now; it is weird that he is noticing this stuff, especially the stuff about his sister. I start pulling hairs out of my nose with my peanut butter laced finger. It does me good, and keeps me from totally hearing this nut bucket. I stare at my paper where six poems should have been. The lunchroom has never been undisturbed since he came to work here. Starting tomorrow I shall lunch in my room, under my desk.