on the drive home

the taste of salt still in my mouth
memory
of an oyster
scooped unceremoniously
standing on the steps
between kitchen and chef’s office

weight of the day dangling off my shoulders
or is that just my purse

the noise of
service
slipping into a haze
as I slide out the back door
into fresh air
not sure if it is
towards
or away from
reality that I go

 

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