meat & potatoes

you sat there, poised  
knife in hand  
so calm,  
picking at the scabs  
under my skin  
as you cut into your steak;  
it bled, watery & pink  
into whatever frou-frou sauce  
smothered its flavor
 
you didn't blink,  
never missed a calculated bite,
a cool punctuation  
of cruel words, dribbling
into your dark beard,  
matting whatever opinions
i may have formed prematurely:  
& i excused myself  
because i'm a fucking lady
 
doesn't mean i didn't think,  
didn't entertain the notion  
of stabbing you in the eye  
with a chopstick,  
or that i didn't cry  
the second i got in my car;  
but i cried for me this time