Mother, is this my last meal?
Can I sleep on the floor once more?
Can your clock be God without any hands?
You don’t have to say goodnight
So what tap tap

Then a twist
A protruded rump
A heavy chicken lick
A barefoot sip
She’s been up since four you know
The coffee lives on her teeth

I ask again, old lady
Will you let me sleep?
But after the ten-course meal no one will speak
The dirty dishes will become something to massage
The knives will float like sharks playing dead
Mother’s vegetable peels will be something to clog the drain

I’m so full
We definitely ate her food
We thanked her
Definitely