I took a bite out of the thigh of a man
in front of me in the queue at Costa. 
It tasted of Calvin Klein aftershave
and the confidence to tell a barista
they’ve been given the wrong order.
He didn’t turn around
when my teeth sunk into his leg meat.
I had bits of hair and suit in my molars
and he simply readjusted
his wireless headphones and left a voice note
to someone about inflation and targets.

© Carl Burkitt 2023