Sunday, February 5, 2012

Main Course

Ideas fall on our plate
like glazed ham garbed with mustard plain
because ordinary is better than Dijon, or honey flavoured

Such bubbles of marooned skin
prepared squared seals of wrapped pinkish tan
hold dinner’s conversation from our main event
Nobody likes to say no when the rind is sweet
when flesh is soft, melting treats
soaking in simmering juices
Ideas swelter in kitchen’s chaos
falling under knives that scathe
like tongues that bathe in sweat’s bile, coating throats of praise

While potatoes, coleslaw and doughy bread chew,
We are what we eat:
Ideas from the oven mixed with our own erroneous virtue.
{a.currie}
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