Speaking of Barbarians
He is a Barbarian, he eats with his fingers
I put down my fried chicken
He dresses strangely. He wears socks with sandals.
I excused myself and hid my socks in their toothpaste drawer.
He blows bubbles in his milk.
To resist temptation, I took the straw out of my glass.
He sounded normal but he wasn’t said my persnickety cousin.
He sounds like me I think.
I say nothing.
Dive under the table
and dig the lint out from in between my toes.
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