by Sheree Shatsky

We wait for the city bus. I eat breakfast on the curb. A glazed donut with chocolate milk. I see the bus. I chew and chew. My head bobbles back and forth with effort. I swallow and don’t choke. My esophagus feels stretched. My giraffe holds a small paper bag. The top creased over. She will eat her donut on the bus. She will sneak a piece, piece by piece. The donut will melt in her mouth. The driver will never see her chew. The driver will never notice her long, luxurious swallows. Her dark eyes, though, will tear sugar. At our stop, he will wish her a better rest of the day, his smile small, sad. The perfect stealth donut, these glazed donuts, my giraffe will say as we walk the couple of blocks to the zoo.

Sheree Shatsky is the author of the novella-in-flash Summer 1969 (Ad Hoc Fiction, 2023). She is a contributor to MAINTENANT 18: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art on the theme of “PLUTOCRAZY” (Three Rooms Press, 2024).