mustard yellow

There’s a word for it
I knew what it was
I sat in a diner
and watched.
The walls were mustard yellow
like someone had
smeared bottles of it
carefully
going over borders.
My phone kept going off.
The woman behind me 
cleared her throat loudly.
I half swallowed.
I half chewed.
There was a painting of a sail boat.
3 missed calls.
4 unread messages.
The eggs tasted like water.
The water tasted like eggs.
I didn’t think it felt like this
before, you know?
I think the word was-
I think, it was nothing.
Yeah, that’s it.
It was nothing.
I moved to return the calls.

– SC

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11 thoughts on “mustard yellow

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