mismatched hell

she tells
you all about
her digestive
system, what she
can eat
and what she
can't.
you sip your drink,
and nod
politely.
a minute
has become an
hour.
you are thirty
feet from
the door, but
you don't know
how to get
there
without her
seeing you leave.
I can't eat
peanut butter
she says,
sipping her club
soda.
or red meat.
or anything with
oils
in it.
goes right through
me.
I ate some pizza
the other day
and spent ten hours
in the bathroom.
you cringe
and rub your forehead,
you are in
mismatched hell.