Hot Dog Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Hot dog

Not ‘if' but
-when I die
-treat me like hot-dog!

(Opening pack of buns
-cleaning, warming up,
-setting sausage inside,
-then mustard and ketchup,
-possibly, pickle, salt,
-horseradish and so on…)

The bun for me, though,
-must be of papers, books,
-which sit on the shelves of
-my room and left to right,
-as well as in albums,
-closets, drawers…

Let the worms and snakes
-as well as rats, insects
-find me too delicious
-lick the lips of good taste.