You taste the meat before me
Feel the medium-rare texture of
The steak, its juices oozing
...
It is certainly not a crime
If your poems do not rhyme
As a matter of fact it's now thought
It may be better if they not
...
Living happily ever after became such a chore.
Their faces stiffened from all that smiling.
Gray clouds chased away blue skies, and
It rained so often they couldn't take walks
...
Because he would be horrified
If he found himself inside one
He is such a serious fellow
He discusses the state of the world
...
the trees outside my window
know my name
their leaves whisper secrets only rains know
...
my true name is latebloomer:
i never strike when the iron's hot
or catch the early worms
...
Why does she look like that,
My daughter asked at a dinner,
She meant the old lady who sat in a wheelchair,
...
A doctor in private practice who made the grateful discovery late... http: //snappoet.livejournal.com/)
Ode To The Fork
You taste the meat before me
Feel the medium-rare texture of
The steak, its juices oozing
All over your tines
Its aroma reaches you first
My culinary ambassador
I like your odd shape
Your elegant curved-back neck
Almost like a swan's
I love your shine as you
Lay quietly among your brothers
Awaiting our beck and call
To team with the others
The knife and the spoon
And serve us a good meal
Look how far you've come!
Wasn't your grandfather long
and sharp and pointed?
Thrown through the air
To bury himself crudely
In the flanks of animals
Tasted the blood
Of enemies, then
Raised in victory
Then there's your uncle
Does good work on a farm
Pitching hay to cows
You, a poor shadow
Domesticated
Like the household dog
Civilized
Now you stab dead meat
Now you pierce roasted flanks
O you fork,
you
At least fare better than
Your distant cousin
The skinny toothpick, whose
Sole mission is to skewer
Tiny pieces of fruits, or pick food scraps
From between teeth