Tonight's Poet Corner: I Smelled Bacon
I Smelled Bacon
by Belinda Roddie
It was everywhere. I swear,
the odor - fucking everywhere.
On my jeans, on my shirts, on the
sheets of my bed. Even on the seats
of my girlfriend's car. It wasn't
accompanied by any other savory
aroma. No bleu cheese, no chicken
or barbecue. Not even a fluffy pancake
to rival the salty jab to the nostrils
every morning at six am when I woke up.
So finally, I told myself that maybe, just
maybe, having a "Cook and eat bacon
anywhere" rule in my apartment
wasn't necessarily the wisest idea
when I had three unshaven, goofy,
and very pork-enthusiastic roommates
abusing the frying pans and sizzling
enough butter to choke a horse.
by Belinda Roddie
It was everywhere. I swear,
the odor - fucking everywhere.
On my jeans, on my shirts, on the
sheets of my bed. Even on the seats
of my girlfriend's car. It wasn't
accompanied by any other savory
aroma. No bleu cheese, no chicken
or barbecue. Not even a fluffy pancake
to rival the salty jab to the nostrils
every morning at six am when I woke up.
So finally, I told myself that maybe, just
maybe, having a "Cook and eat bacon
anywhere" rule in my apartment
wasn't necessarily the wisest idea
when I had three unshaven, goofy,
and very pork-enthusiastic roommates
abusing the frying pans and sizzling
enough butter to choke a horse.
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