Lost Appetite.

[billy]

The laughter in the kitchen
boils over on flames of indignation.
I open the door and de-volume the TV.
The maid as usual is unhappy with her lot;
it seems the wages are too low
and the meat is too tough.
I hear mention of a sore back and long hours,
the delusional rant spews out
over the kitchen sink and metal back-splash;
bounces off the stainless steel like one of her hard dumplings,
and assaults my burning ears.

The laugh returns, no I'm mistaken,
the hearty laugh is indeed a cackle
followed by an under-vocalised curse.
The sound of phlegm grating upward
along the back of her throat make me fearful of eating--
veal with oyster sauce, usually me favourite course.
Softly I close the door, not wishing to upset her
any more than I already have.