Steak's Low Poem by Shane Markie

The steak was
Tougher than I thought,
A vest of gristle
That could keep back
An arrow, or if stretcher,
Pull a car down the street,
Something I did that morning.

The poor Rambler, engine dead,
Radiator wounded and
Tires smooth as a baby's thigh.
Still gobbling up gnats
On its windshield.

To meet rent, I hauled it
To the junkyard, then bought
A steak at Safrway. I sawed
Through that meat, table wobbling.

I turned to the potatoes, cool as the hands
Of the woman I wanted to hołd. I picked up
One of the potatoes, still in its jacket. I squeezed
The potato lightly, looking out the window.

The woman I loved lived there, and at ten to six, she
Stir-fried something Chinese. the flavors drifted and streamed my window. My nostrils flared, ready to burst
Like a potato. I sighed and considered
My own meal. The steak was still warm
From its previous life. I tried to
Cut it into chewable pieces, but
It was tougher than me.

Exhausted, I turned to the potatoes, pliable as that neighbor
I would soon know. A good boy, I ate everything on my plate,
Including the steak. With my jaw tired, I pounded the table
With my bloody fork, its teeth bent, and some of my own
Hurting. I looked out the window. Love was at her table.
A fork going to her mouth, and the noodles, how delicious,
Easy to swallow.