Steak Babies
Steak Babies
In black strappy shoes,
My dinner had come.
It felt like the lottery,
I had won.
The package was small,
It came with a bag of bread.
I opened the box,
To see what charity I
Would be fed.
Steak.
Juicy.
Medium Rare.
Fragrant.
Succulent.
Steak.
I bit into the meat.
It yielded to my
Teeth.
I could not help but sing.
Bite after bite.
It melted in my mouth.
I yielded to the,
Sensation,
Of the grateful,
Contemplation,
Of why the,
Universe,
Chose me for a
Free,
Expensive meal.
And I knew,
I would dream of,
Steak Babies.
Comments
AUTHORHaha! Thank you so much Cynthia! It's hard for me to reread what I write. I'm getting better... I hadn't had any red meat in weeks. One night, as I slept at the City/County Building with the other homeless, a very pretty, petite woman approached me with the above offering. I loved her so much for doing that. I joked with my homeless company (between orgasmic bites of the meat that I shared) that I would make her my "baby mama," and we would have steak babies. Thanks for asking!
ThompsonD (Deidre):
Wow, not only are you a good writer in general, but you write a good poem as well! I love everything you brought into this piece: humor (of course, I'm beginning to think this is your "niche"), the senses, gratitude, and curiosity-- what are 'steak babies in black strappy shoes?" I love it, but ... what are they? ~Cynthia
