"But if it's not asking too much..."
Just because of the screw in your mouth
shards of globe in the mutton potatoes
the waiter-hair-in-my-soup, who cares
if this food is increasingly inedible
or if love skirts the eatery like a rat
Lord, but if it's not asking too much
how about gathering from memory
all the inedible foods of this fool's life
please send me someone to love again
the tendons and the gristle, fragments
of pieces to be carefully reassembled
and of that which you can never keep
place her on my right side, impressed
when I lay all the frog bones in a row.
© 2011 Rob Schackne