Cows Toungue.

The children don’t like that meat.
Crying, and spluttering that it is not right to eat that part of an animal.
Eating cattle tongue has never seemed wrong to us before.
It is dead, after all.

I sliced it up thinly so it looked like ham.
My husband, Harold and I exchanged the smallest of smiles.
He kicked my foot under the table, which was childish, and slightly flirtatious.

Little Betty said “It’s like kissing, a cow!”
Well, really. I swallowed my mouthful quickly,
feeling the dead tongue slip delicately over mine; the sauce was perfect.

I cleared my throat, what to tell the girl? Harold sat quietly,
at the end of the table. This was not his area,
not his responsibility. Children & food.

I shook my head, and continued eating. The children, I expected
would follow suit. “Its covered in all these knobbly bits Ma!”
That was Harry, that boy really did never know when to stop.

And now, under my mouth I could feel the taste buds,
something I’d never quite noticed before.
I excused myself, scraping my chair across the linoleum.
Harold looked up sharply at the sound.
This was something we had only lately managed
to teach the children not to do.