Dinnertime

Charlie calls hogs, eats um, chickens too, royally roasting

marbled tunes of time draped in gold and bar-b-que sauce,

sweet maple deviled meats on a green lettuce bed

set with satin sheets of fire, smooth, a lake that laps,

tasty, all the way to the horizon, another dimension,

an invisible fifth, these treats speak your true tongue,

true as blue skylights on a cloudless smoking day –

hey, let’s wipe that dripping chin, Charles, we all hear

your feast,

like some fine woman’s whisper, but it’s not just ribs this time,

again with you, we drool, so grind that pepper mill,

and don’t forget dessert, man, whipped cream with a cherry,

after plucking away all the dark meat from the grill, a hot dish,

leave behind our ghosts of other lovers, all that means nothing,

and swing us into color beyond this pile of bones and ash.

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