In a Peruvian Restaurant

—

by

Why Are You Yelling?
in ,

In a Peruvian restaurant
somewhere in the Lower
East Side, I sit beside a friend,

and across from his friend, 

and his friend’s boyfriend.

Swirling the strawberry margarita 
around in my mouth,
hoping to taste the tequila,
I cross my feet under the table.

Uncross.

Cross.

Uncross.

I realize, as the ice cubes
melt in my water glass,
that I haven’t said a word
in an hour and I feel

scared, momentarily—
it’s one of those irrational
thoughts—that I’ll never speak again.