Meat

Mmm, butter, burning in the pan, a

Melted pool casting waves of promise, that

Nestle in my nose, soon

To be tickling, tingeing, suckling and searing

My piece of meat

This is my favourite cut; it can

Be relied upon to produce a required level of

Satisfaction, especially now, when

I can purchase it so economically

Competition, my precious, has brought you

Cheaper to my kitchen - trim

Lean and tender.  I need not lift a finger unless

It’s to lie you gently to bed and

Watch with glee as you snuggle slowly, basting

In the warm crackling grease, your

Blood coloured complexion, tanning

Under the atonal hum of the gas flame

I slice open the packaging, and that perfect vacuum

That sealed you fresh from the world, exhales.  I delight

Holding your supple flesh between my palpitating hands,

but wait… 

…where’s the solidity…the substance.  Vexed

I sling you at the pan stuffing

Slippery fingers into pockets, pouting,

Jangling the extra change sagging and abrasive

Against my thigh; an empty

Echo crying in a napkin

I glower back at the offending

Slice as it contracts slowly toward

The middle of the skillet, Pangea in

Reverse; disturbed I fill the void

With onions and mushrooms to

Share the heat, and yet…

…I am not the Chairman of the Board without reason. 

I have a wonderful idea.