Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?
Mighty orang-utan steaks?
Like eating your own cousin
in a superfluous cannibalistic eradication
of discriminative ignorance
(skin scorched, hands severed, turn the other cheek)
seeped in investigational
pharmaceutical irreverence
Or maybe even angry bullfrogs,
their little bodies chopped mercilessly in half
in a bittersweet parody of French delicacy
served at your discretion in a bubbly heap
of spacial distortions
and their own bloody death froth
Sow the seeds of stupendous perversity,
oh ye vampiric pirates of a foreign plane of existence
with your blasphemous tongues on fire
lock it down deep in denial,
and repress this interfamilial mass murder -
flutter your blind eyelids
and ignore it like gypsy skirts in the breeze
Are you contemplating more desecration?
More explicit slaughter and plunder?
Your gun flowering with deadly spittle,
in claustrophobic charnel houses,
blood flowing in crimson rivers
splashing our feet but not our anaemic hearts
Am I being too explicit
for your fine sentimentalities?
Admonish me, then, but oh…
how about a nice glass of
Chardonnay to wash it all down?
No wonder I am an insomniac...
Let’s Eat!
©crisstiena
Gold trophy winner
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