Tonight's Poet Corner: Hardly Hearty
Hardly Hearty
by Belinda Roddie
Normally I'd believe
that a meal made for two would
nourish one lonely individual,
but indeed,
when the steak scrapes the palate
with medium rare confusion,
it's hard to stomach an extra glass of wine
or a bowl of forelorn greens.
It's war against the appetite
and the real hunger behind a fork,
sucking the grease off the prongs
one by one, licking for spare
juices, when all I want is to
salivate against a living tongue,
not a grilled one.
No. You clear the tables.
I'm going to lie down,
sleep this burden off,
and refuse seconds unless
they're offered with a bottle of burnt bourbon.
by Belinda Roddie
Normally I'd believe
that a meal made for two would
nourish one lonely individual,
but indeed,
when the steak scrapes the palate
with medium rare confusion,
it's hard to stomach an extra glass of wine
or a bowl of forelorn greens.
It's war against the appetite
and the real hunger behind a fork,
sucking the grease off the prongs
one by one, licking for spare
juices, when all I want is to
salivate against a living tongue,
not a grilled one.
No. You clear the tables.
I'm going to lie down,
sleep this burden off,
and refuse seconds unless
they're offered with a bottle of burnt bourbon.
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