The Man Who Ruined Lunch

There is no history

of them.

They’ve slipped by,

unnoticed.

Society was always

too preoccupied

with progression.

They were pleased

with this

invisibility.

They could even

carry out

their morbid fantasies

in broad daylight.

Mutilating stray animals,

stabbing unattended children,

hacking fingers

from the homeless.

Parents would tell

their children

not to play

so rough.

People wandering by

would look away

in disgust,

wishing someone

would do something

with these drunk bums.

Nobody even bothered

with the animals.

They were left there

to rot

with the filth

left in the back alleys.

Nobody even summoned

the authorities.

Nobody ever

did much

of anything.

So they kept

slipping by.

One afternoon,

I was having lunch,

when I noticed

a peculiar fellow.

He had on

a nice suit,

tall hat,

a monocle,

and a profound mustache.

A knife

was in his hand.

He walked behind me.

I could hear

his footsteps

stop.

A burning sensation

crept up

my back.

More and more,

the pain

flourished.

I turned around.

It appears as though

you’ve had

an accident.

The fuck I have.

You stabbed me.

Before he could answer,

I took out

my hatchet

and hacked through

his monocle.

People stopped

and stared.

He tried to take out

his knife once more.

Fingers began

to fall out.

Such an unfamiliar sight

to see them

unattached.

Different sizes,

shapes,

colors,

rolling around.

I hacked him,

once more,

on the back

of his neck

before he

slipped away.

Leaving his souvenirs

behind.

I stood there

for a moment,

wiping off

my hatchet.

Everybody went back

to their business.

I tried to too.

My lunch

was not as

enjoyable.

The bastard

ruined it.