Friday, March 29, 2013


While cleaning out the garage we found an untitled poem I wrote about 10 years ago. Warning: This may make you hungry. Or offend, if you are vegan.

Rump roast. Butt cutlets. Butlets.
Pork butlets.
Pork shoulder,
On my grill.
Dressed to kill.
In Wowie Maui sauce.
I need floss.
For my teeth,
I hah mea huck im my heeth
(hard to talk when you're flossing)
I'm salivating,
And I'm waiting,
For chicken,
On a stick in
(you thought I would say finger licking)
A delicious marinade.
My cholesterol
must be off the wall.
Should I partake
of only steak?
Just ingest
chicken breast?
Exclusively eat
pork, the other white meat?
I know I read
there's also bread.
I should consume
more legumes.
Salads, greens,
things with leaves.
But my tummy
craves the yummy
taste of meat
from things that bleat
and moo and cluck
and oink. I'm stuck.
On meat. I fear,
I need a beer.
While I sear
this piece of deer.
Squirrels on
my browning lawn,
the neighbour's fat
and juicy cat.
I lick my lips
between my sips
as I peruse
which sauce to use.
I won't cease
Grilling beasts
until I've sampled
all the animals.
The world is my smorgasbord.
Urban carnivore.

© 2013 Miz Dinah