The Argument 

By Rebecca L'Bahy  

 It’s past dinner time and dark 
 as I stand in Athens Pizza, 
 face lit like the menu that hangs huge 
 like a sign I should go big or go hungry,
 go ahead and get whatever I want,
 which was nailed down on the drive over, 
 tuna sub, toasted, with crispy iceberg lettuce—
 so what am I doing? Standing up once again thinking 
 there’s a better choice up there,
 something I didn’t know existed 
 and I’m impatient, God, I’m so hungry!
 Everything smells so good, I think
 I might lose my mind, almost wish 
 someone were here with me, whispering
 sweet nothings like: You only live once!  
 You deserve it! because suddenly I’m seeing 
 tuna,not the salad, but the fish, 
 a school of those gray beauties swimming fast, 
 in unison, the ones in front breaking 
 through the surface of the sea, 
 towards the indifferent sun, 
 blue sky, blue water, so much blue, it stuns—
 then the inevitable net, men 
 standing over their catch in blood stained coveralls, 
 stabbing with picks, going for the eyes, 
 stabbing the eyes behind my eyes 
 and there is thrashing, gasping, pain and surprise
 that life should suddenly end like this, 
 here, today, when just minutes before 
 all was routine, boring even. 
 Then silence. Still gray bodies lined up 
 on a concrete floor, buyers, sellers, economics. 
 The question, as if on cue:  
What’ll it be?