Confluence (3)

This is the last (graphic) anti-carnivore poem. I swear.

 

 

Confluence

 

iii.

I don’t eat chicken anymore. But not because of the one experience that
made me swear off meat. There were no sheets dark-stained slaughter red,
a favorite horse’s head sharing the pillow beside me. No off-color piece of mystery
meat found in a hot dog lovingly slathered with mustard, onions, and relish.
There were no stray flecks of bone discovered half-ground in a crispy brown
nugget of spicy sausage. It is inexplicable why now my stomach turns uncertain
at the whiff of seared flesh and rendered fat. My return to the herd, grazing happily
on tender shoots, greenly succulent forage, is almost complete. I don’t eat pork,
or beef or seafood. I don’t eat chicken. I dream of fistfuls of bitter greens
drizzled in limey translucent olive oil, the weighty meat of a garbanzo. I lust after
the glorious earthiness of a tomato, its claret flesh tearing under my teeth.

 

Curious to see more of my writing?  Visit me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – on Facebook, Twitter, and my website.

If you like tonight’s poem, why not show your love and leave a tip through the link below:

Tip for tonight’s poem

I really liked Brenda’s poem and want her to continue writing great poems.

$5.00

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.