Nachos for One

Tyler Hein

The night you ordered nachos for one
I knew we were over.

My brain tangles and confuses images
with memories, so tennis ball fuzz
is the static beside Bobby’s bedside,
following the unceasing flat line,
a lazy maestro blip scoring the end.
The glossy sheen on Sarah’s forehead
is me ripped by the tide, thrashing,
forgetting to go lateral when frightened.
Even when the feelings filter past
my synapses without a proper map
like waylaid apostles, I know endings
better than the brittle backs of my teeth.

You didn’t even get toppings.
That’s just a plate of chips, come on.

---

Tyler Hein is a writer living in Edmonton, Alberta. He is a graduate of the school of creative writing at the University of British Columbia. His work has appeared on stage, screen, and in magazines such as Riddle Fence, Glass Buffalo, and THIS Magazine. His debut novel, The End of the World, is set for release in 2021.

Tyler has a brand new poem in Issue 7, available RIGHT NOW.

Do you want all the Funicular? Subscribe once. Forever.