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Dishes

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(Hear the audio.)

Dishes

i look—
the plated carcass
chicken breast starchy
entrails soaked gravy blood

take it in dishrag
in proper measure your pain
chlorine realism yellows
whites but leaves your stains
to remember

why did i have to see you
that way
dragged out of bed
    at midday

stringy face and
broken-out hair
even leaving me
a Judas kiss
“take care”

i looked—
your string was strung
out, christmas lights
out-of-season

part digested thoughts
with leftovers of you
unfinished by whatever
pill or man
last ate you

then i learned to
cry
so calmy patient
my teacher

you looked—
staining me as i was wrung
and bitterly dry

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

This piece brings forth the reality and truth that our hunger has cosequences or side effects that are not completly thoughtout in the moment of our actions. Only afterwards does it sometime occur to us. The wet action you speak of with the dish...

This piece brings forth the reality and truth that our hunger has cosequences or side effects that are not completly thoughtout in the moment of our actions. Only afterwards does it sometime occur to us. The wet action you speak of with the dish towel has the bitterly dry reaction later, if you will. I especially liked the audio version. Well done lad.

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This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Thank you, Van. I would have liked to not have had the experience in the first place but ... I guess there is not "but," just this poem for what its worth.

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