Quickly disappearing

beads of condensation

are left behind

when Kerry Lynn walks barefoot

on rustic hardwood floors

or removes her fingers

lightly from a worn desktop

 

Like watermarks or

impressions in the sand

these traces vanish

quickly, albeit here

because of dryness

and the physics of evaporation

not due to an erasing tide

 

However fleeting

these tracks of potential

lust are honed in on

by a feral lover in the strange

attention he pays to her everything

just as an insatiable hound picks invisible scent

from the partially frozen ground in triangular pursuit of fur, meat, conquest

 

Like a taunting scavenger high in the tree tops

will the effects of cold appendages

still be felt when her pursuer presses against

Kerry Lynn beneath the warmth of a patchwork quilt

signaling an inviting need for encompassing heat

or will a preemptive heat that’s invaded hands and feet

signal the possibility for love has faded into sleep

 

 

“We’re the one true religion”
that’s what Christians say
but Muslims and Jews have a similar sway

or bent on correctness
that truth is their own
except it’s nothing but an assurance loan

“Our God worketh magic”
but magic’s not real
“Death to all heathens” has strange appeal

don’t question dogma
the powers don’t fight
is it more about faith or being perceived as right?

salvation’s an advert
like that for a home
sheep stigmatize temples they’ve never been shown

Come celebrate Jesus at Dino’s Meats

our butchering pauses to bow at His feet

come call out His name (buy veal) repent

lean ground chuck’s on sale for 99 cents

 

Come offer yourself and cash if you can

for each 50 bucks, 50 cents off a ham

 

As clergy Rev Dino will preach from a block

and sacrifice lamb chops to each in his flock

 

“Do not condemn liver, nor gizzards, nor tripe

for each death has purpose no matter the type

like Christ meat revives us though technically dead

for each three-pound sea bass a free loaf of bread”

 

Addicted to print advertising and gin martinis
Marty finds Sunday mornings almost intolerable
as he pages through the inserts of a thick newspaper
hung over and in the constant presence of advertised meat

Fleshy colored pictures of dry pork chops
sit in isolation on a printed dull yellow backdrop
as he dry heaves at the site of this lonely washed out image…
such representation of meat looks too industrial for consumption

Mounds of brownish ground round and their imagined scent
go right to Marty’s stomach and he’s oft left squeamish
from even the best deals on photographed leg of lamb…
the fryer chickens alone look like they’ve been dead for eons

Turkey breasts and pot roasts are a hue or two off
appearing sun baked or the victims of a microwave thaw cycle…
it’s early, but Marty needs a pick-me-up to deal with the visuals
and to process the thought of how a meat photo shoot is conducted

Slumped in a leather chair and fingering the rim

of a coffee cup, Paul is slovenly lounging

and stares in an accusatory fashion

at more professionally dressed patrons

inspiring feelings of suspicion as their

passing glances meet near a hanging lamp

 

Normally pre-planned and predictable

in his scheduled pursuits and free time

Paul has his mind on other things today

like collegial dinner parties with holiday themes

and what other activities he might enjoy

if not persistently occupied with building models

 

Paul’s currently intent on equipping his efficiency

with exact replicas of World War II battleships

of no less than 10,000 pieces; considering this achievement

he inspects himself to find dots of clear glue, model paint

and remnants of decals on his sweatpants, wondering

why life can’t be assembled and adorned in a similar fashion