Lunch

There are times

where I don't 

want 

to talk about

my dead 

baby. 

Like in the faculty room

at lunch. 

You

continue 

to push

and 

ask

personal

questions, 

as I quietly

look 

down

at my 

food. 

I tell myself

you're probably 

trying to be

thoughtful

and

helpful, 

but

I don't 

understand

how you can't

see

that me

repeating the same response

three

times, 

is me, 

begging

for this conversation 

to 

end.