poem in the fridge (for Sarah)

 

poem in the fridge

for Sarah St Vincent Welch

 

things opened are in here

the can of worms, the ointment fly

stool samples, acid trips, specimens

 

all sorts, oh and did I mention dinner?

voice says ‘we are your dead in here’

the feast preserved , slow cultures

 

cut off from nature

thing that could bite once

‘we go through your guts in time’

 

each packet bears its epitaph

and one day rise to justice?

dark thoughts when the door is shut

 

so all we meat must fear

2 thoughts on “poem in the fridge (for Sarah)”

  1. Sarah St Vincent Welch

    That looks pretty yum in there! Each packet bears it’s epitaph. I like that. (Slightly relieved I’ve gone vego coz that is sticking with me.

  2. Long ago I was very proud to find a poem of mine on a stranger’s fridge. Cut out nicely from a lit magazine. Whoopsie!

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