The Sauce Poem by Shannon Harney

Tip the bottle, tip tip tip
the meat won’t scream; no talking, no asking.
Lid is gone, drip drip drip
this gleaming stream is the first we’ve seen.
The pool is tangy, so the swimmers swim
gods pulling strings & making red of things.
The lake is growing, untamed to trim
Our hunger shows- chose to be, violent strings-

The village pillaged, the war is won
the swimmers driven darker in caves
No sign of the city but a bite of a bun;
a meal’s memory marked in red waves.
The calories we count pay tribute to those
victim to the red bottle we rose.