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Was it tuna?
The world in black and blue,
no visible outline, the colors
blur. Headlights bright red,
and the people covered
in smoke as I stand in the back-
alley surrounded by old graffiti
stains and a half eaten tuna fish
sandwich. The alley cats
devour the carcass leaving
the bones and eyes behind.
I look at the eyes and I see
my mother pan frying
batches of leftover
salmon, a once in awhile
treat, then back to smelly
tuna daily. I give my mom
credit, her cooking skills
mask the awful aroma just
enough for me to eat with
ease. I still wonder what
mystery meat I ate back
in high school, looked like
tuna, smelled like beef but
tasted like chicken. I get up
and leave to a corner
bodega shop where they sell
beer and passable pepperoni
pizza for a late night snack.
Then I chill at the coin laundry
shop next door, I should’ve
brought earphones with me.
Copyright ©
Diana Morales
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